


Winter Winds

by AriaDream



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Worlds, Counter Guardian duties, Fate, M/M, Making things right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 66,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9870401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriaDream/pseuds/AriaDream
Summary: Diarmuid has evaded the fate set out for him. Unfortunately, fate is not that easy to leave behind and a mysterious man will accidentally draw him back. Can he survive? Or is it his fate to be a hero? Not even Archer knows.





	1. Leaving it all Behind

Diarmud ua Duibhne slogged through the snow, wishing he was anywhere but here.

Although if he was honest, he would have to admit he wasn’t entirely sure where ‘here’ was. Some awful land far from Ireland where they spoke an exotic tongue. He’d learned it, Diarmuid was good with languages, but he disliked the way it rolled off his tongue. If he travelled three days they might be speaking something else. Why did all these tiny little kingdoms have their own languages? It made travel a damned trial.

Not that he was really going anywhere. Diarmuid reflected on it wearily. After rejoining the knights of Fianna he’d thought he would marry Grainne. It hurt him to hurt Fionne so, but his lord did have fine sons. He did not truly need the young and beautiful lady Grainne. It had seemed like the anger about the geas was passing.

But the geas itself had also passed and Diarmuid had been left with a bitter flavor on his tongue. Finally he’d approached a great old wizard, one of the few left in the land, and the old man had helped him fake his death at the hands of a boar. Diarmuid had needed to be present – blood shed had triggered the illusion – so he’d seen, with deep pain and an ache of betrayal, how his lord Fionne had fumbled with the water. Clearly he’d underestimated the pain his lord was in. It was right that Diarmuid should go.

So he tossed away his knighthood, his honor and his woman, leaving without a backward glance. Along the way he’d finally rid himself of the curse as well. A hot poker, wielded by a smith, had done the trick. Amusingly, the man had assumed the beauty mark was some kind of growth that would threaten Diarmuid’s life and that was why he wanted it gone. Well, it certainly had threatened his life on many occasions.

To his vague surprise, Diarmuid saw signs of a camp in the distance. Speeding his steps he heard some ribald laughter. Frowning, he wondered why the men were camping here. According to his map there was a village only a short distance away. Oh bloody hell was the map wrong? Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Ho!” There was a scramble for weapons when the strangers saw him but Diarmuid held up his hands pacifically.

“Just a wandering swordsman, wondering why you camp out here when there’s a village not far away,” Diarmuid said as well as he could, in the foreign tongue. The men were all shaggy and bulky, he noticed, but for one. That final man was kneeling by the fire and Diarmuid suddenly blinked. Was he unclothed?

“What, you haven’t heard? It burnt down maybe six months ago.” …Curse the luck. But was that man actually unclothed? Damned well looked like it. His skin was a warm shade quite unlike these pale northerners but his hair was dead white. He seemed to be staring into the fire, Diarmuid couldn’t see his face. There seemed to be a heavy iron choker around his neck.

“Can I perhaps spend the night with you then? I can pay you a bit for the use of a tent although I have but little coin,” Diarmuid said in a friendly manner. Didn’t want them to think he was worth robbing, although this was a reasonably civilized place. He thought it unlikely they would cut his throat. There were a few quick murmurs among the men before he was given permission to stay.

“You’ll have to share a tent with this filth, though,” one of the men said before kicking the kneeling man. He showed no reaction to the pain. Diarmuid hesitated a moment.

“May I ask why he is lacking clothing?” It seemed like a fine way to get frostbite although he supposed that was why the man was so close to the fire.

“So he can’t run away. Be a death sentence.” …That made some sense. “When we travel he goes in the cart.” Diarmuid glanced at it and saw it was the kind of cart you used to transport the insane, with barred windows. That also made sense. “He’s a murderer. We caught him red handed and they were all children,” the man growled and to Diarmuid’s ears he sounded quite sincere.

“Well, I can’t say it gladdens my heart to share a tent with something like that, but if he’s tied I’ll take it,” Diarmuid said, deciding he really shouldn’t care about this stranger. Although. “Why are you taking him anywhere instead of cutting his throat?” That seemed a bit odd.

“We’re taking him to Stretzla. They’ll give us a bit of money for him, sell him into slavery.” …Ah, right, that made sense. Slavery was big business, always had been and always would be.  Diarmuid gave up any interest in the prisoner and instead took interest in the dicing game that was starting. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Daud,” Diarmuid replied absently as he tossed the dice. That was his throwaway name, given to those he did not truly like or trust. A common, empty sort of name. They introduced themselves as well and Diarmuid smiled and nodded but didn’t bother to remember. Soon, he’d never see these men again.

When it got too dark and they all retired to bed, though, Diarmuid’s attention was again caught by the kneeling man. When they went to fetch him Diarmuid noticed he was sitting in a rather strange way, his legs folded beneath him. A good, hard kick and the man rose to his feet with surprising fluidity. As he stood Diarmuid saw his hands were tied tightly in front of him. There was a dangling rope fixed to the bonds and they pulled him towards the tent. The bound man did not resist in any way and Diarmuid was struck by how perfectly composed he was.

_Is this man truly a murderer of children?_ Diarmuid wondered as he stepped into the tent. Eyes flicked towards him and they were honey brown. Diarmuid opened his pack and pulled out his bedroll, unrolling it on the floor of the tent. He could camp outdoors with nothing but that, but vastly preferred not to. Glancing towards the man Diarmuid saw he was watching with a small frown, a wary tension in his posture.

“What is your name?” Diarmuid asked quietly, mindful of the other men. The stranger said nothing. “Do you not understand me?” Diarmuid watched his face carefully as he spoke and saw not the slightest hint of comprehension. Ah, of course. “Can you understand me?” A different language, but one spoken not too far away. Nothing.

Diarmuid tried several tongues before finally resorting to his mother one. And then, to his surprise, he got a reaction.

“Yes.” The stranger’s voice was smooth, reminding him of a fine pipe.

“What is your name?” Diarmuid asked and the man tilted his head slightly before responding.

“Archer. What is yours?”

“Daud.” If Diarmuid wasn’t giving his real name to the brutes carting the man around, he certainly wasn’t going to give it to a murderer. Although. “Did you really kill those children?” he asked and the man stared at him for a moment before giving a small, dismissive snort.

“If I said no, would you believe me?” The derision in his voice was clear. Diarmuid met those honey brown eyes calmly.

“Perhaps I would,” he said and something flickered through those eyes. Then it died, falling into emptiness.

“Then you’re a fool,” Archer said, looking away. Diarmuid hesitated a moment but… he hadn’t answered the question.

“Did you kill those children?” Diarmuid asked again and Archer flicked him a glance before looking away.

“No. But I was responsible for it,” the aching emptiness in that voice made Diarmuid shiver and he truly believed the other man meant it. Deciding he wasn’t really interested in hearing more, even if Archer would tell him, Diarmuid settled into his blankets.

This man wasn’t his to deal with. Diarmuid wanted nothing more of him.


	2. Rescues Made

For the next several days, thoughts of Archer haunted Diarmuid’s mind.

He hadn’t meant to go towards Stretzla. It wasn’t a bad destination, though, so after a while Diarmuid changed his path. Although he wasn’t entirely sure why. Even if he saw Archer again what would he do? Buy him from the slave auction? He wasn’t badly off for a hire sword but what in hell would he want a slave for? To carry a tent for him? A pack mule would make more sense.

The man haunted him though. Perhaps it was his calm composure in the face of adversity. Or maybe it the final words Archer had spoken to him. _No. But I was responsible for it._ Diarmuid knew he was likely being a damned fool but he couldn’t help but imagine what that meant. The scenario his mind kept coming back to was that Archer had tried to be a hero and failed and in so failing, been blamed for the crime. Blame he accepted because of his failure. It was the kind of thing a… a knight would do.

Of course, Archer could just be a damned murderer. Diarmuid didn’t really know. Still, the man chased around his thoughts and turned his steps towards Stretzla.

To his surprise, though, he caught up with the men before they could reach the small town.

_That’s odd. I wonder what delayed them?_ Diarmuid thought as he saw the familiar wagon with the bars. Had they had a breakdown of some sort? Or a horse going lame? Memories of trips that should have taken a few days taking a bloody week went through the back of his mind.

Diarmuid felt an odd urge to caution, though, and instead of approaching openly he slipped through the forest. There was plenty of cover here and he was able in the woods. The clearing they were camped in barely deserved the term so he was able to get quite close under cover.

Despite having an odd feeling about the situation, Diarmuid didn’t expect what he saw.

Archer was kneeling in the snow, one leg twisted badly beneath him and a pained grimace on his face. As Diarmuid watched, one of the men kicked his legs apart. Another was gripping the rope and harshly yanked Archer’s hands forward, putting him completely off balance and nearly making him fall on his face. And the man behind him was unbuckling his pants.

Rage clouded Diarmuid’s mind, but it was a cold rage. He carried a bow and he was excellent with it so it was time to use it. His first arrow took the would-be rapist in the base of his throat. The second, his accomplice. There was a shout from the fire and then Diarmuid dropped the bow, reaching for his sword.

His sword might not be magic anymore, nothing but fine steel, but Diarmuid’s skill was second to none. The three remaining men fell to him easily. When he was done and their lifeblood stained the snow, Diarmuid stopped and looked at the one remaining man left alive. Archer looked back at him and there was no surprise in him. Only that calm composure. Did nothing get to the man?

“I thought I would see you again, although perhaps not so soon,” Archer commented as though he was talking about the weather. “Will you untie me?” he asked and Diarmuid hesitated. While what he’d ended was vile, it did not mean that Archer was deserving of trust.

“You might still be a murderer,” he said and Archer stared at him for a moment, honey-brown eyes calm and composed. Then he suddenly chuckled, a small, dry sound.

“I am a murderer a million times over. The blood that stains my hands could fill an ocean,” Archer’s smile was like a knife and Diarmuid almost shivered at the coldness in his eyes. “But I am not a murderer of children. This, I swear to you upon Gaia herself.” That was a strange oath. Yet, Diarmuid did believe him.

“…Very well.” Diarmuid pulled a knife and cut through the ropes. Archer rubbed his wrists for a moment before walking purposefully towards one of the carts. Diarmuid winced at the sight of bare feet on snow although if it pained Archer, he gave no sign.

Diarmuid understood what he was up to when he pulled out a bag and opened it, pulling out black and red clothes. Archer quickly dressed himself and Diarmuid blinked at the beautifully made coat with the silver toggles. That was a piece of clothing worthy of Fionn. Something about it didn’t seem to please Archer, though, and he rolled his shoulders with a scowl. As he watched the man put on his boots Diarmuid figured it out. The iron choker he was wearing interfered with the coat and was causing Archer some irritation.

“If that choker bothers you, why don’t you remove it?” Diarmuid asked and honey-brown eyes flickered up to meet his.

“How?” Archer asked simply and Diarmuid blinked. How? Just… take it off…?

Suddenly intrigued, Diarmuid stepped close to the man and lifted his chin to see the choker. An iron band and very tight, with hardly enough space to slip one finger beneath it. Heavy and wide, too. Turning it around, Diarmuid made a peculiar and unsettling discovery.

“There’s no latch. There’s not even a seam. How in hell did this get on you?” Diarmuid asked and Archer shrugged before pulling away.

“Magic.” Diarmuid swallowed at the matter of fact answer. It was particularly distressing because he was sure it was absolutely true. Even if the choker had been forged around Archer’s throat there should be a seam. And no smithy could do that without killing the man. Then Archer gestured towards the fallen men. “We should loot the bodies.”

“Uh…” Not exactly a deed worthy of a knight yet Archer was right. He’d be a damned idiot not to. Diarmuid took a deep breath, steadying himself. “See to that while I take care of the horses.” They would take them all, for now at least. Diarmuid didn’t want to sell them in Stretzla, a man with so many horses would seem suspicious. He’d find a good place to drop them, some farmer would have a gift of free horses. Archer nodded his acceptance and went to the bodies, rifling through them with practiced ease.

Diarmuid soon had the horses ready and Archer came to him, handling over the money and items he’d taken without comment. Diarmuid pocketed the valuables, reflecting that he should wait some time before selling them. The money he could use immediately. Mounting the horses, they left behind the bloody camp. As they rode, Diarmuid glanced at Archer. He handled his horse with practiced ease. Who was this man, precisely? Diarmuid said nothing but his mind was full of questions.

He would have to voice them to Archer, soon.

* * *

 

They made Stretzla by nightfall.

Diarmuid took care to dump the extra horses in a farmer’s field before they came in. The ones they kept were the most non-descript. Not the finest, but harder to identify, which would do. Archer’s costume marked him as a foreigner and potentially rich, which was a bit troublesome when the innkeeper tried to overcharge them. Diarmuid quickly put paid to that, imitating Fionn in a poor mood. Soon they had bed and food for decent rates.

The food was nothing to write home about, though, a thin and watery stew. Archer ate it without complaint, his eyes nearly vacant as he chewed. Diarmuid stood the silence as long as he could, but finally had to say something.

“How can you be so calm after?” …That wasn’t the first question he’d meant to ask. Why had that popped out of his mouth? Archer just gave a one shoulder shrug.

“Sexual violence is a common part of war.” Yes, but normally towards women! Something of that must have shown on his face because Archer’s tone became cold. “Or does it particularly horrify you because I am a man?” Diarmuid struggled for an answer. Because the truth was… yes. That did make it particularly horrifying. “I see.” Archer’s voice was as chilly as a midwinter night.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Diarmuid growled, leaning over the table. “I didn’t have to save your worthless arse!” Archer paused to lick his spoon clean, gazing at him with calm and thoughtful eyes.

“If I had been a woman bent over, would you have rescued me as well?”

“Yes,” Diarmuid replied instantly, without the slightest pause. A maiden in that position would have outraged him every bit as much. Archer smiled then. It was a very small expression, the merest lift of the corners of his lips, but it was there.

“Then I apologize for my tone towards you.” What? Diarmuid blinked at him and Archer took another spoonful of the stew before continuing to speak. “Emotions are meaningless, often atavistic and beyond our control. Thoughts exist only in the privacy of our own mind. What matters are our actions, which truly determine our worth. If you hold yourself to similar standards for both sexes, your emotional reactions to seeing a man under duress do not matter. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“I, uh…” Archer was damned odd. “Thank you and I accept your apology,” Diarmuid managed as gracefully as he could. “Forgive me, but is Archer your real name?” Diarmuid asked, hoping to move to something less touchy. Archer shook his head.

“No.” Diarmuid waited. Surely he would – “Is Daud yours?”

“…No.” Damnit! Now things had gotten awkward again because he really didn’t want to give Archer his name. “We both seem to be bloody awful at conversation,” Diarmuid muttered, rubbing his forehead to ease an ache. Archer chuckled, the same small, dry sound as earlier.

“I admit, it is not my strong suit. Although I prefer this to inane pleasantries about the weather,” Archer said and Diarmuid couldn’t resist.

“Do you think it will snow tomorrow then? Ow!” Archer had thrown a piece of bread at him and almost nailed him in the eye. “Hmph, I’m going to eat this now,” Diarmuid threatened and Archer just shrugged.

“Have at it, it’s burnt.” How lovely. Well, he’d had worse. Diarmuid finished the crust of bread. “How did you get that ugly scar? It looks like a burn.”

“Had a growth removed. The leeches said burning it would be better than cutting it,” Diarmuid said easily. He liked that explanation best, it tended to get a little sympathy. Archer looked at him with thoughtful eyes.

“I see,” he said before pushing aside his bowl. A glance told Diarmuid it was empty. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“With you?” Diarmuid repeated, a bit startled. “You are your own man, you can do what you like,” he said, trying to brush away the question. He didn’t want to be responsible for Archer. Honey-brown eyes stared at him thoughtfully for a moment before Archer nodded.

“I see. Will you help me?” A wry twist of lips. “I cannot speak the language.” …Ah, and Archer couldn’t speak any of the other tongues Diarmuid had tried on him either. Only the Gaelic which certainly wouldn’t get him far. Although that was… very odd…

“Are you Irish?” Diarmuid asked, absolutely certain the man wasn’t. His coloring was utterly wrong but that was the least of it. His mannerisms were utterly foreign. Archer shook his head but said nothing. “Bloody hell man work with me! What are you?” Diarmuid growled and Archer looked into his mug.

“I’m out of beer. Can I have more?” he asked politely and Diarmuid glowered before reluctantly gesturing to a barmaid. A few bits and she left to get them more ale. “Thank you. I come from a land you do not know.” He could be the judge of that! Archer saw the look on his face and an expression of weariness crossed his features. “I am Japanese.” …What? Diarmuid was loathe to admit that the word had no meaning to him. “Japan is an island, very far from here. In some ways it is similar to your land. Perhaps that is why I came,” that was muttered but then Archer shook his head. “It does not matter. I must go back.”

“Back? Wait, to Japan?” Diarmuid asked, afraid of the answer. Archer shook his head. “To Ireland.” But why? Did he even want to know? “I’ll help you as long as you don’t inconvenience me too much.” Diarmuid still had to make a living. Archer nodded his head as the barmaid brought them more ale.

“Thank you. I greatly appreciate it,” Archer said but there was something dark in his eyes, something that didn’t quite agree with the tone of his voice. Diarmuid had no idea how to pursue that or even if he wanted to, though, so instead he drank his ale. Ah, it was good, this inn clearly did the drink better than the food.

When they finished their second mugs, they went upstairs. Diarmuid expected some hesitation from the other man but Archer stripped like a machine, removing his clothing with clockwork precision and speed. Then he settled into his bed, which was only a thin, cheap pallet. A bit bemused, Diarmuid removed his clothing like a normal person before donning a nightshift. He did not care to sleep naked although Archer did not seem to mind. After barring the door and checking the window, Diarmuid settled into his own bed.

His dreams were haunted with visions of home.

 


	3. Fateful Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diarmuid finds Archer more and more fascinating. Archer finds out something he wishes he could forget.

The next day, Diarmuid brought Archer to a smith.

He didn’t think it would work and Archer didn’t think it would work, but the collar needed to be removed. Archer was cagey about exactly what it was doing to him but Diarmuid was damned sure it was doing something. No one would magic a collar on the man for the sake of adornment.

Unfortunately, the smith had no miracles to pull out of his arse.

“I can’t remove this. How in hell did it get put on, bloody magic?” The smith muttered as he turned the collar. Diarmuid sighed as Archer held completely still, looking like an exotic statue.

“Yes, it’s magic. Do you have any suggestions about who might be able to magic it off?” Diarmuid asked before offering the smith a coin. The man blinked before refusing it.

“There’s no need for that… hm, you could try the Witch of Srranstich. Although she’s a dark and evil woman, they say. You might not like to pay her price.” The smith warned and Diarmuid held up a hand.

“Let me translate for him,” Diarmuid said before relating the suggestion to Archer. To his surprise, the man laughed, short and staccato.

“Tell him that would not be possible. She has left her marsh for far away lands and it was her hands that put this upon me,” Archer said and the coldness in his eyes… Diarmuid was sure the witch had a mortal enemy here. He related the message to the smith, who gave a small whistle.

“That’s ill news, the Witch is a black one. When she goes on the move… well. If that cannot do, you can try the Einzberns. They’re a cold lot of wizards and it’s said they’d not spit on a man who’s dying of thirst. They’ll do you no favors,” the smith said and Diarmuid grimaced before relating the message to Archer. He looked mildly surprised before nodding.

“I know the Einzberns. He’s right, they do no favors but I might have a coin to trade them. Does he know where they are?” Archer asked and Diarmuid pulled out his map. After a bit of puzzling the smith marked out an area. “Thank you,” Archer said directly to the smith and Diarmuid translated. The man smiled at them both.

“It was nothing m’lord. Pleased to help,” he said and Diarmuid thanked him again before they departed. Archer moved with a confident and easy stride, Diarmuid noticed. With his clothing it was no wonder everyone seemed to assume he was a foreign lord. Hn.

“I fear your clothing is… rather obvious. We should buy you something,” although even then, Archer’s exotic coloring would attract attention. Archer said nothing for a moment but his lips tightened.

“I am sorry. Normally this is not an issue,” he said in a low tone and Diarmuid wondered what that meant. “If you can afford it,” Archer said more strongly and Diarmuid shrugged.

“I more can’t afford to have you travelling around like that. Might as well have ‘rob me’ stamped on your forehead,” Diarmuid said and Archer chuckled dryly. Diarmuid found he very much liked that sound.

Diarmuid wasn’t too proud to ask for directions so soon enough they found a second-hand shop. Archer bundled up his fine clothing and put it away before donning brown trousers and a dark green shirt. They suited him quite well and fit better with the collar.

Shortly after that, they left town. There was no reason to linger and every reason to go. Diarmuid worried about the dead men and the likelihood that a search would soon be on for the bandits who’d murdered them. And Archer wanted to get started on his way to the Einzbern’s. How long would they be together? Well, he’d see.

They reached a small village before nightfall and they stayed at the inn, small but nice. Diarmuid felt no need for company but oddly enough, Archer felt differently. He began quietly flirting with one of the barmaids, to Diarmuid’s mild surprise. He said nothing about it though. If Archer wanted company that wasn’t really his business.

It became Diarmuid’s business, though, when he saw something trade hands and realized, to his anger, that Archer was paying her. What the hell?!? He shouldn’t be wasting money that way! Diarmuid decided not to make a scene in front of the woman but he’d be taking Archer to task tomorrow. In a bit of a foul mood, Diarmuid retired to bed and ignored the fact that the other pallet was empty. Archer would be back soon, no doubt.

The other man was there in the morning, asleep in his bed as if nothing had gone on. Diarmuid dressed without comment, not looking at Archer at all. Then they went downstairs for breakfast. It was oat gruel, slimy and tasteless but filling. There was silence and it didn’t seem to bother Archer a bit, as he ate his food mechanically, honey-brown eyes unfocused. Diarmuid finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Archer,” Diarmuid said, resting his hand on the table. Honey-brown eyes focused on him. “I don’t mind if you bed a woman but I’m damned if you’ll use our money to pay for the tarts,” Diarmuid said harshly and an expression of discomfort suddenly crossed the other man’s face. White brows knit together for a moment before Archer looked away.

“I… apologize. I am not good at courtship and I need…” Archer paused before shaking his head. “I will be fine. I will find a way,” Archer murmured and Diarmuid blinked at him. What did that mean? “We must reach the Einzbern’s as soon as possible. How long will it be?”

“At least a week, perhaps as long as two,” Diarmuid said with a small grimace. “Longer if I find a job. I’m not putting my life on hold for you,” Diarmuid warned and Archer reached up to rub the choker on his throat, his expression preoccupied.

“I understand. If that happens we may have to part ways,” Archer said in a low tone and somehow the thought of that really bothered Diarmuid. It felt like… like he would be passing something by… something precious and important the likes of which he’d never see again. “Although that would mean… I don’t…” Archer was rubbing the choker so hard, too hard. Diarmuid reached out and caught his hand.

“Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself,” he said as gently as he could, their eyes meeting for a moment. Archer’s pupils were small and he seemed locked in some kind of inner distress. “What is that choker doing to you?” That was at the heart of this, Diarmuid was sure of it. There was an indrawn breath before Archer finally gave him something like an answer.

“It is cutting me off from my magic,” Archer said and Diarmuid wondered if he was a wizard. He… didn’t really look the part. Weren’t wizards supposed to be weedy, bookish sorts, often with long beards? Archer looked like a warrior, a knight, hardened by combat. Could one be both a warrior and a wizard? Ah, yes, but such a man would be like the great Cu Chulainn.

“I see,” Diarmuid said slowly, suddenly convinced that this was the truth. Archer was a great hero but he was crippled, his weapons stolen and his magic taken from him. A truly great failure and one he was trying to fix. “Why didn’t the witch just kill you?” That was what he would have done. Archer’s dry chuckle was pleasant to his ears.

“She had no place to safely keep me, to torment me at her leisure. And she wanted me to die without dignity,” Archer said before reaching up to rub the choker again. His eyes were unfocused for a moment. “Fate is very cruel,” he murmured and Diarmuid wondered what was going through Archer’s mind. He was so damned hard to understand! “But I am finished. Shall we leave?” Glancing down, Diarmuid realized he was done as well.

“Yes.” They left then, mounting their horses and riding out. As they rode, Diarmuid carefully counted the money. Hmm, along with the little valuables Archer had taken from the bodies they had more than enough to reach the Einzbern’s. Which was good, they’d have to leave again after that. Where would they go? Archer would want to go to Ireland. Diarmuid sighed internally. As much as he wanted to see the emerald isles again, they had no place for him.

The day was quiet and they made camp at the end of it, pitching their tent and pooling their bedrolls and blankets, sharing body heat. Diarmuid honestly expected Archer to have some kind of reaction to that, some aversion to touch, but the man simply accepted it. Perhaps it was because they were both clothed. It was too cold to even bother removing things.

The next morning, though, Diarmuid got a bit of a surprise.

_Never guessed he’d get cuddly in his sleep,_ Diarmuid felt a bit bemused as he looked at that white-haired head, pressed tight to his chest. Archer had migrated down a bit, which made him seem smaller, although it was but an illusion. When he shifted, wanting to go outside and get breakfast started, Archer clung on with a sleepy mutter. Well, this really wasn’t the first time Diarmuid had seen this. What was that knight’s name… Conor? Damned bastard got incredibly clingy when he was asleep and cold…

Diarmuid handled it exactly the same way. He started flicking Archer on the forehead. Flick, flick flick. Finally Archer sleepily recoiled, not truly awakening but letting go of the source of warmth that had become a source of torment. Diarmuid escaped before Archer could waken and replaced the blankets around him, just as he had for Conor, the times they’d gotten told to share a tent.

“Not a morning person,” Diarmuid muttered as he stirred the still glowing coals and began feeding the fire. “Just like old Conor.” What had happened to him? He’d died, hadn’t he? Right, decapitated in a battle. Swift and honorable, a good end for an old knight. Still seemed a bit of a shame though. So many children and grandchildren at the funeral…

Fondly remembering old Conor – he’d liked to hum the same tune all damned day it had driven that other knight completely batty, what had his name been again? Oh right Ailin – Diarmuid put on the porridge and patiently stirred it. Archer would likely roll out of bed soon.

And he did, coming out of the tent. Unlike old Conor, there was no bleary eyes, no face rubbing and muffled complaints about how mornings shouldn’t be a thing. No, Archer was completely composed, just his usual self. Perhaps he was moving a touch slower than usual. No, wait, there was more.

“Is something wrong?” Diarmuid asked sharply, seeing a tightness around Archer’s eyes and an odd set to his lips. Pain? The man blinked at him before taking a small breath. Diarmuid’s eyes widened a touch as he saw how it seemed Archer couldn’t get enough air and he reached up to hold the choker.

“I’m fine,” Archer said, his tone uneven and Diarmuid thought he was a damned liar. “May I… go meditate?” Diarmuid stared at him, perplexed, and Archer tried to explain. “There is a place of power… over there, somewhere not too far…” he gestured vaguely to the east. “I need to draw energy.”

“Uh…” That sounded absurd but Diarmuid was no Cu Chulainn, no wielder of runes. “If that’s what you want. But don’t go too far. Breakfast will be waiting when you get back.” Diarmud could take care of packing up the tent and looking after the horses. Normally he’d begrudge doing all the chores himself for something as daft as meditation but he didn’t think Archer was shirking. No, something was really wrong. Archer’s smile was small but grateful and the man slowly walked out of the camp. Diarmud watched him go, frowning slightly. Definitely moving slower than usual.

Sighing, Diarmuid spooned himself some of the porridge and settled in to eat. Mmm, delicious, hot and filling on a cold winter’s day. He ate slowly and was just finishing his food when Archer came back.

“So, did the meditation help?” Diarmuid asked cheerfully and Archer just looked at him, his honey-brown eyes remote. Then he looked at the pot of porridge.

“A little.” That would be ‘no’ then. “Perhaps some food would help as well. Although it’s always the weakest…” Archer murmured, his eyes going unfocused again as he concentrated on something. Within himself? Diarmuid obligingly spooned him up a big bowl of porridge before taking a bit more for himself.

Archer ate as he always did, mechanically and efficiently. Soon he was done and he helped with the final chores before they were on the road again.

“When will we next reach an inn?” Archer asked and Diarmuid pulled out the map.

“Probably not tonight. We’re looking at the day after,” he reported before looking at the names. “And that’s just a little village. They won’t have an inn, most likely, just a barn to sleep in.”

“Oh.” The odd note in Archer’s voice caught Diarmuid’s attention and he looked at the man sharply. “…I’m not going to make it that long.” That was clear and Archer’s voice was icy cold. Diarmuid stared at him, taken aback. “She’s won.”

“What?” Diarmuid asked, feeling stupid. What was Archer babbling about? “Wait, the collar? Your magic? Can’t you live without it?” Cu Chulainn hadn’t needed his magic to live, Diarmuid was sure of it. Archer’s shoulders were stiff for a moment before slumping, just a touch.

“I must tell you the truth now,” Archer said quietly and Diarmuid had to struggle to hear. But then thankfully, his voice strengthened. “I am not human. I am a spirit of a long dead warrior, summoned to remove a great threat to the way of things. Magic sustains me, drawn from the world itself.” Archer paused to look at him and Diarmuid met those calm eyes, feeling cushioned by shock.

“That collar is keeping you from taking magic from the world?” He was sure of it. Archer nodded. “Then how are you alive?” Diarmuid asked and there was a silence for a moment before Archer spoke again. His voice was cold and remote.

“A magic user could give power to me directly. For the unskilled, though, I can… drink from them during sexual intercourse.” …What?!? “Until this point I have sustained myself that way. However, three days is too long. I will not make it.”

“I… wait… the men who… oh.” Diarmuid felt utterly appalled as he reviewed Archer’s captivity in light of these statements. He’d been drinking magic from them while they raped him?!? “That’s disgusting!” Diarmuid exclaimed and saw Archer stiffen.

“Yes, I agree. I am disgusting.” Archer was staring away and Diarmuid felt a sharp regret for his exclamation. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all! “I will keep trying to find a way around the trap. I cannot ask…” Archer’s voice lowered to a mumble and Diarmuid couldn’t hear what he was saying. So he reached out to grip the other man’s shoulder, careful of the horses.

“You’re not disgusting. I only meant that the whole situation, and the witch who forced it on you, is disgusting,” Diarmuid said forcefully and Archer’s head turned, honey-brown eyes truly looking at him. Diarmuid felt that he was being examined, both inside and out.

“Perhaps,” Archer murmured to himself before asking a blunt question. “Have you ever lain with a man, Daud?” Diarmuid suddenly felt like his throat was clogged with wax.

“I… uh…” Diarmuid scrambled for a response. It was obvious why Archer was asking. He needed to drink magic and the only… donor… he’d have for days was Diarmuid. But this was damned embarrassing!

“You’re blushing,” Archer observed, which only made his embarrassment worse. “I take it the answer is no,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and Diarmuid felt his ears heat before he scowled at the man.

“No, damnit, I haven’t. What kind of a daft question is that to ask – “ No, he wasn’t a knight of Fianna anymore. And it was the kind of question you might ask a wandering hire-sword named Daud. “You want me to fuck you?” Diarmuid asked, regaining a bit of his composure. Archer’s lips tightened for a moment before he vented a very small sigh.

“I need you to fuck me or I will die,” Archer corrected and Diarmuid winced a little as he understood. Paying that girl to bed him made complete sense now. Did Archer actually care for men? “I will die in great pain, unless the World takes pity on me and allows me to return with my task unfinished. The World is rarely so merciful. Most likely I will be allowed to experience my death and decay as a punishment. The Witch though so,” Archer’s voice was cold as the winter winds. Diarmuid swallowed at the thought. Decay?

“Then I must. We will do this tonight,” he said, feeling a touch of fear at the thought. He’d never done it before and was mostly afraid of hurting Archer. The poor man didn’t need that, after practically whoring himself out. How had he felt, taking power to live from the men raping him? Diarmuid didn’t want to know. Archer nodded his acceptance and Diarmuid saw a great relief in him, beneath his composure. That made him feel a touch better about it.

The ride was uneventful, even pleasant, for a winter ride. There were no clouds in the sky and the sun was warming. It also seemed to take forever. Diarmuid was extremely nervous when they made camp, unable to imagine how he would help Archer take pleasure from this. Having something jammed up his asshole would have to be painful, wouldn’t it?

“Please calm down. You are practically vibrating,” Archer’s calm voice made him jump. “What is wrong?”

“I…” Damnit! “I just don’t want to hurt you,” Diarmuid said honestly and saw a bit of surprise flit across the other man’s face. It quickly changed to that tiny smile, Archer’s smile.

“Daud, I am not a mortal man. My endurance is supernatural and my body is quite durable. That… activity… cannot truly hurt me for any length of time,” Archer said and Diarmuid scowled. That wasn’t it!

“So you won’t be limping the next day? But curse it, I don’t want you to be in pain,” Diarmuid said roughly and there was a pause before Archer rested a hand on his shoulder.

“We do not have the proper materials so there will be some pain,” Archer’s voice was very gentle and Diarmuid blinked. Materials? “But I have had many male and female lovers, in my long existence. I will take pleasure from this, I assure you.” …Well… alright… “But we need to make camp. Put your back in,” Archer said with absolute practicality.

“Uh, right!” Flushing a bit – he was slacking off – Diarmuid helped make the camp. Food on the fire, not that it was much, dried meat and barley in a rough stew. Also a bit of bread they’d bought at the last place. It would take a while for it to cook, too. As they sat, looking into the fire and waiting for the food to cook, Diarmuid was surprised when Archer began to sing.

The words were impossible to understand and Diarmuid felt sure this was Archer’s mother tongue. He sang softly, looking up at the stars and the sound was poignant, sad and terribly beautiful. Then he fell silent and looked down, back into the fire. His eyes were vague and unfocused again.

“What was that song?” Diarmuid finally broke the silence and Archer stirred, eyes lifting and focusing on him.

“I will try to translate,” Archer said after a moment before concentrating. “Hm… Oak leaves are rustling, rustling, swaying close to the roof’s edge. Oh, how the stars are twinkling, twinkling, gold and silver grains of sand.” Diarmuid listened, mesmerized by Archer’s smooth voice. This recital was almost as entrancing as the song itself. “Five wishes, I have written. The stars are twinkling and watching from the sky.” Archer paused before chuckling softly. “It isn’t oak. It’s a plant from my home, something you have no word for in this language. That’s the only liberty I’ve taken with the translation.”

“It’s beautiful. What does it mean?” Diarmuid asked and Archer was quiet for a moment before responding.

“It’s a festival song. The festival is for the stars in the sky that only meet once a year, on that particular day. The story is that they are a husband and wife who are separated by a great river and can only cross it one day a year.” Archer’s eyes were unfocused again and Diarmuid thought he was remembering the past. His childhood? Quite likely. “The stars here made me want to sing it. I’m not sure why, they are all different.”

“I don’t know,” Diarmuid murmured, gazing up at the stars. They were beautiful, so clear and so bright. “It is a lovely night. Ah, the food,” It was bubbling well. Diarmuid checked it and found the grain was tender enough. Portioning it out, they both settled in to eat their fill.

When they were done, though, came the part Diarmuid had been dreading… retiring to their tent. Archer stripped with that odd speed of his and Diarmuid watched, truly looking at the other man’s body for the first time. It was fine, all lean muscle and fit to make the ladies swoon. Truly, Archer was a handsome man, particularly with his exotic coloring. And as Archer settled onto the bedroll Diarmuid noticed, with a touch of embarrassment, that his coloring was surely natural. He honestly hadn’t expected the man’s body and pubic hair to be so white.

“Daud, you do need to undress,” the dry amusement in Archer’s voice made him flush and Diarmuid reached for his clothing. Taking it off, he knelt down in front of the man on the bedroll. Archer looked at him calmly before reaching out with one hand. Diarmuid took it, feeling the warm, callused fingers. “Do you have any idea what to do?” Archer’s voice was gentle and Diarmuid swallowed.

“I, ah… no.” He finally admitted. Archer chuckled quietly before smiling. It was sweet and understanding.

“Start as you would with a woman. Kiss me Daud,” Archer directed and Diarmuid hesitated before laying on top of the other man and pressing their lips together. It was… not much different from kissing a woman. They were tentative at first but the contact soon firmed, Archer responding and returning the affection. Mmm, Archer had an odd taste as well. Diarmuid sampled the other man’s mouth, finding it strangely crisp and clean.

A hand slid along his body and Diarmuid almost shied away as it stroked over his sex. But he held himself still as Archer began to stimulate his cock. It was a bit odd to be touched so by a man. He could feel the rough calluses, the hand that was larger than most women. Yet the contact was gentle and familiar and Diarmuid closed his eyes, picturing a few of the women he’d had. Yet, the thoughts were oddly distant and he opened his eyes to see Archer’s face. That calm composure, even now, seemed to draw Diarmuid in.

“You fascinate me Archer,” Diarmuid breathed before kissing the man again. Those lips were so warm against his, so alive. A man made of pure magic. How could this be a real thing?

“Daud,” Archer mumbled his name and Diarmuid almost corrected him, gave the man his true name. But then fingers curled around his cock and Diarmuid grunted softly as Archer shifted, drawing their shafts together. Ah, that was nice, it really was. “Now, like this…” Archer was shifting his hips up, exposing his… Diarmuid flinched a little at the thought of sticking his dick in that puckered orifice. He knew it would hurt! “Full penetration is required,” Archer said calmly and their eyes met before Diarmuid nodded.

“Yes,” Diarmuid said, hearing a strange, husky note in his voice. He spat on his palm and moistened his cock with it, the best he could do. Then he began carefully making his way into Archer’s body. The unholy tightness ruthlessly squeezed his dick and Diarmuid heard a soft groan from Archer. His eyes darted to the other man’s face and Diarmuid saw his lips were half-parted, his honey-brown eyes fogged with both pain and lust. “God… Archer…” Diarmuid pushed himself forward, inching his cock into the man. He longed to just bury himself to the hilt in the clenched heat but he couldn’t, oh god he couldn’t.

“Take me Daud. Oh, please take me, I need you,” Archer’s voice, heavy with need, sent even more blood to his shaft. Diarmuid grunted before jerking his hips and filling Archer to the brim. The other man’s cry was more pleasure than pain, as he took Diarmuid’s cock.

At first, Diarmuid kept his thrusts slow and shallow, letting Archer adjust to his girth. But tanned limbs were grasping him, Archer’s beautiful voice urging him onward, onward… Diarmuid fell into the spell of it, giving him permission to move, to take. To claim the other man as his own. Reaching between them he found Archer’s length and began stroking that neglected shaft, timing it to every thrust. A bit of pre-cum slickened his hand, making the friction better.

“Archer… you are…” Diarmuid met honey-brown eyes, hazed with lust and need. “Pure magic you are…” In every way. Sweet god had his cock ever been held so well? Archer pulled him into another kiss, wiping any thought of words from his mind.

Diarmuid wasn’t sure how long they kept at it. The bliss filled him, over and over, until it began rising to a conclusion. He felt like something was gathering in him, something so bright and potent. Already, Diarmuid could feel it infusing Archer and for the briefest of moments he thought he perceived Archer not as a man, but a beautiful thing of light. Later he would think it was absurd. He was no wizard, no caster of runes! But in the moment that beauty almost blinded him and in a rush of pure ecstacy, Diarmuid came.

He _would_ later believe what he sensed at that moment. The feeling of more than semen leaving his body, strength of a different kind. But he did not need it and was glad to give it, seeing Archer throw his head back, his mouth open in a soundless cry. He could almost see the man strengthen in front of his eyes, vitality returning to him.

They were both left trembling and gasping, bodies covered in sweat and… Diarmuid blushed as Archer looked down at himself with calm curiosity. Then that tiny smile quirked his lips and he ran a finger over his chest, gathering up a bit of the stray fluid. Diarmuid stared, eyes wide, as Archer brought that finger to his mouth and slowly sucked off the semen. Despite his utterly exhausted state, the cock still buried in Archer twitched.

“Fuck man, do you want another?” Diarmuid asked, suddenly struck by hilarity. Surely he wasn’t serious! Archer smiled before shaking his head.

“No, you’ve replenished me quite thoroughly. And we do have to get up tomorrow. Do we have any rags?” Ah, practicality. Diarmuid pulled away, hearing the soft sound of their bodies parting. Sorting through his meager possessions, Diarmuid found a shirt so worn it was almost ready for the rag bin anyway. Passing it to Archer, he quickly shredded it and used part of it to clean himself. “By the way, my name is Shirou Emiya.”

“Shirou,” Diarmuid rolled the name over his tongue. Beautiful but so very foreign. “I think I will call you that only when we make love. The rest of the time, you should be Archer.” Throwaway names were useful. “I am Diarmuid ua Duibhne,” he said easily and there was dead silence. Puzzled and almost hurt, Diarmuid looked at Archer and saw an emotion he’d never dreamed his name could cause.

Pure horror.


	4. Fate is Cruel

Diarmuid had had many lovers, over the years. More than he should have, perhaps, given his beauty mark. But he'd always tried to make sure the ones he bedded were unattached and too poor to follow him when he rode into the sunset. A bit contemptible, perhaps, but his body had needs.

The usual aftermath of sex involved a bit of cuddling, tender words and perhaps a few gentle kisses. Often a gentle reminder that he'd be leaving in the morning. If sufficient alcohol was involved, there might be confusion. Nothing like waking up and having to introduce yourself to the woman you obvious pronged the night before.

Not once, however, had a lover given him a look of utter horror and ran out of the tent _naked in the middle of winter._

"ARCHER!" Diarmuid actually tried to follow and stopped dead as the ice cold air hit him. "Shit!" Cursing fervently, Diarmuid got his clothes on. As he did, he wondered what the hell Archer's problem was. They'd never met in Ireland, he damned well knew that, he'd remember someone who looked like Archer…

Running out after the man – didn't Archer feel the cold at all? – Diarmuid followed the fresh footprints in the snow. They led away from the camp and Diarmuid wondered where the hell Archer was going. At least there was a full moon and plenty of light but he hoped spirits didn't get frostbite. No, they couldn't or Archer would have stopped by now.

Diarmuid found Archer and cursed when he did. He'd fallen, tripped over something and was lying in a dazed heap, blood staining white hair. Diarmuid rolled him over and grimaced as he saw Archer's eyes were closed. He'd knocked himself out – Diarmuid tried to lift the man and hissed. Carrying Archer would be difficult he was damned heavy.

Then eyelids flickered and hands gripped Diarmuid's arms, holding him with an iron grip. Honey-brown eyes opened and focused on him, filled with emotion. What emotion though? Diarmuid didn't know and wasn't sure Archer even knew.

"It was you. I was sent here for you," Archer said, his voice so achingly empty that Diarmuid shivered. What emotion was he sucking from the words, to sound so void? "I thought I was sent to save Fionn from the witch." Wait, what?! "I thought I could save the children but I couldn't. I wasn't sent to save them and I wasn't sent to save Fionn. I was sent to fail, to be cursed and dropped at your feet to drag you back. Back to Ireland and back to the fate that awaits you. Curse the World, curse the Throne and curse myself." Archer abruptly let go and pulled away, grimacing and reaching up to touch his wounded head. "Leave me. Leave me to die, walk away, be Daud. A hero's death awaits you in Ireland and the World will swallow your soul."

"My god," Diarmuid whispered, feeling shaken to the core. He felt like he'd just listened to an ancient seer, been given the wisdom of a god. But Fionn. The witch. What in hell was Archer talking about? "The witch Archer. What is she to Fionn? What is happening in Ireland?" Archer didn't want to talk and Diarmuid seized his arms, grip for grip. "Tell me!" Despair filled Archer's face for a moment, followed by dull resignation.

"Why did you leave Ireland, Diarmuid ua Duibhne?" Archer asked softly and Diarmuid wanted to shake him. "Please answer my question, it will help me answer yours." …

"The geas my lady Grainne put on me broke. I'm not sure why. But I stopped loving her," Diarmuid answered honestly and Archer closed his eyes for a moment. "So I faked my death and left. What of it?"

"Why would such a potent geas break?" Archer asked softly and Diarmuid could only shrug. He wasn't Cu Chulainne, how would he know? "Because it was no longer relevant. You cannot love what no longer exists and the death of the caster will undo most spells."

"…" Diarmuid's mouth opened soundlessly for a moment. Then he paled as he fully absorbed Archer's meaning. "That cannot be! I saw her the morning of – she was just the same as usual!" …Although… come to think of it, she hadn't been had she? Grainne had been sweet to him but they hadn't had as much sex as usual and – Archer's headshake interrupted his thoughts.

"It was the Witch, wearing the skin of the woman she killed," Archer said quietly and Diarmuid blanched. Skin?! "But she didn't want you. She was there for Fionn and you were just in the way. Likely she planned to get rid of you and was most grateful when you did it for her."

"I… I…" Oh sweet god in his heaven. Diarmuid felt faint. "My god what is happening?" he breathed, pupils dilating as he thought about it. Fionn, the knights of Fianna, what danger was the entire damned country in? "I have to – OW!" Archer's sudden grip was painful.

"No! Don't do it. You were destined to die a hero and she interrupted your destiny. The World is jealous and it wants you back. Don't give it what it wants. There's nothing glorious about dying a hero," Archer sounded ragged and Diarmuid stared at him, seeing the dark desperation in honey-brown eyes.

"Don't you see that I have to?" Diarmuid said softly, staring into the other man's eyes. "I might have given up my honor but too much is at stake. I must save my… lord Fionn," Diarmuid said, trying to correct himself. Fionn was no longer his lord and would not have him back. Although… a small, traitorous part of his mind wondered if the Witch was the reason Lord Fionn had fumbled the water. What if she'd been taken in by the illusions as well and wanted Diarmuid dead? She could have bespelled his lord to spill the water, couldn't she have? Diarmuid shook his head, forcing away the thought. Leaving as he had, he'd forfeited his honor as a knight. Nothing would change that. "I must save Ireland." And just from what he'd heard of this Witch, the entire country might really be in danger. At the least she'd murdered many children. How many others would fall to her? Archer's laugh was dark and despairing.

"I know. You're such a fool, just as I was a fool." The bitterness was almost palpable. Diarmuid clasped Archer's arm to lend comfort before frowning. This was good and all but.

"You're naked in the bloody snow Archer and now you've hurt yourself! Come back to camp this instant," Diarmuid said firmly. They could talk more in the tent this was absolutely absurd. Archer began pulling himself to his feet, with that surprising fluidity he'd shown when they met.

"I am fine. Your essence has completely recharged my magic," Archer said but Diarmuid shook his head. Fine or not, this was completely unnatural. "Yet, you're right, this is stupid." At least he was willing to agree to that!

They made their way back to the tent and vaguely, Diarmuid knew he was wasting sleep but he damned well couldn't sleep before he had the full story out of Archer anyway. So he demanded it. The other man looked like there was nothing less he wanted to do than talk, but he did it anyway.

And the full story came out.

* * *

 

_The World manifested me in Fionn's great hall._

_It was night and no one was there. I could sense a great darkness permeating the stones. It was hard to isolate, so I changed my clothing to resemble that of a knight before walking through the halls. I knew I would find what had brought me here._

_I found it in the dungeons. They are in use, as I am sure you know. The smell was particularly foul, like curdled vomit, and I could hear whimperings as I walked down the stairs. And in the dungeon I found a cage full of children._

_They were all in good condition and very young. The oldest was no older than six. I was wary of traps but could sense nothing and thought, perhaps, that the one I was here to kill was gone. That meant I should save the children, get them out of here before confronting that power. Sometimes, figuring out what the World wants of me is like a guessing game…_

_So I reassured the children and began working on the lock. But I am no Assassin or Caster. It was ingeniously trapped and exploded in my hand, wounding me severely. Then the Witch attacked._

_She used dark phantasms, things that I believe were once knights, corrupted and turned to evil. They attacked me mercilessly as she laughed… she used her magic and I think I screamed when she began killing the children. Taking their lives to use against me._

_I failed that night, failed completely. Eventually she had me at her mercy, cruelly wounded and unable to move. She taunted me then, taunted me with how she intended to corrupt Fionn and turn his court into one of darkness. She also said it wouldn't take much to taint the man, as he'd already tainted himself. Then she told me she'll use Fionn's court as a starting point to unify Ireland beneath her hand. And from there, the rest of the world. I asked why Ireland, why she would travel so far. The Witch laughed and said her auguries indicated this barbaric island had a great potential for evil, if brought out by skilled hands._

_Then she forced me to watch as she killed the children, taking their souls for power. She used that power to bind me, cut me off from the power of the World. I was badly wounded and would have died shortly with just that, but she told me it was too easy a death for me. So she killed the last of the children and forced me to take their souls, healing my wounds and strengthening me. Then she lamented that she could not keep me, there were still too many eyes about. But she would take pleasure in knowing that I would experience my body rotting around me. And in a burst of magic, she sent me and the children's bodies to a place she knew well, in her own homeland._

_The rest of the story, you know._

* * *

 

When the story was done, they were both silent. Diarmuid reflected on Grainne for a moment. He hadn't loved her. The breaking of the geas had made that clear. But he still mourned her. She'd been a sweet, romantic young woman who should have had a long life ahead of her. Falling to the curse hadn't been her fault and Grainne had deserved so much better than this. There was one thing, though, that puzzled him.

"How is my lord Fionn tainted?" Diarmuid asked aloud, although he didn't expect Archer to give him an answer. To his slight surprise, though, the other man did.

"Allowing one of his knights to die when he could easily have saved him, out of pure jealousy, is a dark act." Diarmuid opened his mouth to protest but Archer held up a hand. "The fact that it was an illusion does not matter. What matters is the intent in his heart."

"I… had hoped… the Witch…" Diarmuid said but Archer shook his head. Honey-brown eyes met his and Diarmuid saw a calm sorrow there. "…I see."

"Truthfully, I knew you had to be someone important. It was too much of a coincidence that I would meet someone here who could speak Gaelic. Yet, it never occurred to me that you might be Diarmuid. In most realities, your death occurred precisely as the illusion depicted." …Ah really. Diarmuid swallowed at the thought. "You fooled even me. The only one that wasn't deceived is the World. The Throne of Heroes wants you…" Archer paused before shaking his head. "We need to go to sleep. All of this can be decided after we reach the Einzberns."

"Ah, yes." Archer was right. It was going to be hard to sleep but Diarmuid knew he needed it. They settled into bed together, sharing body heat and closeness.

Diarmuid had thought it would be hard to sleep but as it turned out, he was wrong. The soft, even rhythm of Archer's breathing quickly lulled him into a doze and then on to a deep sleep.

* * *

 

Diarmuid woke the next day to find Archer wasn't there.

The lack of warmth, that body tucked so close, gave Diarmuid a sudden burst of panic. He sat bolt upright and looked around. No Archer in the tent. Scrambling out of the bedroll, Diarmuid began putting on his clothing. Archer might have left in the night…!

It was all a bit anticlimactic when he stumbled out of the tent to see Archer stirring a pot of porridge over the fire. Archer looked at him with just a touch of puzzlement as Diarmuid caught his breath and straightened his clothes.

"Breakfast isn't done yet," Archer said, gently stirring the porridge. "I miss the ingredients of my homeland. I hope I am making this right."

"Well, porridge isn't too hard," Diarmuid said, taking a seat by the fire. "I thought you weren't a morning person." Archer's eyes lifted from the porridge and that tiny smile lifted the corners of his lips.

"I am actually very much a morning person… but not when I'm feeling badly drained from lack of magic." Ah, that made sense. "Were you afraid I'd vanished in the night?" Diarmuid winced at that calm question. Archer went on, unperturbed. "I thought of it. Then I wondered how likely it was that you would follow me and find me passed out in the snow from energy loss, then have to do something extremely undignified to wake me," Archer pulled the spoon out and licked it thoughtfully as Diarmuid blushed, catching his meaning. "I decided it was pretty much a certainty and abandoned the idea."

"Uh, well, good. Because I damned well would follow you," Diarmuid said firmly and Archer smiled at him again before continuing to stir the porridge.

"You are very loyal. Thank you." Diarmuid wasn't sure why but those words made his heart ache. Staring into the fire, he tried to puzzle it. Why would… oh.

"I wasn't loyal enough," Diarmuid murmured, feeling a deep regret. Abandoning Fionn and the knights of Fianna had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. They had been a band of brothers. And yet, with the geas broken he just hadn't been able to stomach it anymore. "I wish I could be Daud." Just a simple hire-sword, making his way in the world. Diarmuid sometimes imagined what kind of life Daud would have had. The youngest or almost youngest of many children. A mother and father who loved him but hadn't been able to give him anything but an old sword. Leaving home because there was no place for him there but farmhand and that wasn't much of a life. Learning to fight and discovering, along the way, that he was good at it. Gradually making a name for himself as a decent sort of man who could be trusted to stay bought. Putting aside money to buy a farm someday…

"The porridge is done," Archer's calm voice pulled him out of his melancholy musings. Diarmuid took a full bowl from him with a thankful smile. "This would be so much better in summer, with berries from the forest sprinkled on top."

"Mmm hmm. Best is with a little cream and honey. But we might as well wish for the moon," Diarmuid said wryly. Honey was expensive.

"If we were going to do that, we should wish for brown sugar. That's truly the best, with raisins and chopped up nuts," Archer mused and Diarmuid stared at him, a little shocked. "I had a pudding similar to that as a child."

"With sugar? You must have been rich!" Sugar was for Kings and Queens, if they could get it. Much of the time they couldn't. Archer chuckled softly, spooning up some of his porridge.

"Oh no. When and where I grew up, sugar was very cheap. Everyone had it and used it to sweeten their tea." …Really. Diarmuid tried to imagine a land where sugar was so common even the peasants had it. Amazing. "It's good for the taste but not for the teeth. Too much sugar causes tooth rot, you know."

"No, I didn't know." Well, how could he? Although. "I had a rotten tooth taken out once. Knowing that sugar could do that might put me off it." The memory was among the least pleasant of his life. And that included being chased by his fellow knights. Archer chuckled again and Diarmuid enjoyed the sound.

They finished their food before cleaning the bowls and dishes and putting everything away. Chores completed, they began to ride again. Diarmuid noticed that Archer seemed more alive, somehow. There was no great difference in his manner but there was an energy about him. Taken from…

"Ah, Archer?" Archer's head turned to look at him and Diarmuid swallowed as he met the other man's eyes. "Will we need to – tonight, I mean – " Diarmuid felt himself blushing with the embarrassment. Not that he'd mind but it was damned odd to say this sort of thing to another man! Archer frowned, a small downturn to his lips.

"If you do not mind. This collar prevents me from using my true magic but being as vigorous as possible could make a difference if we are attacked," Archer said and Diarmuid nodded. That made sense, although…

"This can't hurt me, can it?" That thought had been bothering him. Archer smiled before shaking his head.

"No. I am not an incubus. My body takes only what your body is willing to give me. If you were sick or badly wounded, your body would refuse to release power to me." Archer suddenly frowned, his eyes going unfocused. Diarmuid wondered what was on his mind. Well, why not ask?

"What's wrong?" Diarmuid asked and Archer blinked. Honey-brown eyes focused on him before Archer heaved a small sigh.

"The woman I had at the inn. She didn't give me as much as I would have expected. I think that she was not as well as she appeared," Archer said quietly before shaking his head. Diarmuid swallowed at the thought. Sickness stalked the land, as it always did. Dying of it was not remotely unusual.

"You can't catch anything can you?" Diarmuid asked although he was sure Archer couldn't. He shook his head, expression remote. "Well, that's good."

"Mmm." Archer seemed preoccupied and Diarmuid sighed internally. That had taken a bit of the joy out of the day.

It was a nice day though, clear and crisp without much wind. They saw another group, a man and a woman with a small child. They were going the opposite way and they exchanged a few pleasantries before passing by. The child tried to reach out to Archer, entranced by his exotic coloring, and Archer laughed, waving at the child. Diarmuid was pleased to see his good humor returning.

When they were setting up their camp for the night, though, the weather started turning. Heavy flakes of snow and the wind was picking up. Diarmuid tended to the horses, making sure they were blanketed and well-fed. Horses could take the cold, they had to, but they could still use the blankets.

The trees helped to break the wind but it was still getting unpleasant and they quickly gave up thoughts of a hot supper. Settling into the tent, they broke out the trail rations, hard tack and twice baked bread. Well, Diarmuid did. Archer didn't bother and he had a good reason.

"I really don't take much energy from food. And the harder it is to eat and digest, the less I take. This hardly seems worth the effort." Archer paused for a moment before giving him that small smile, the one Diarmuid was frankly finding adorable. "And they taste terrible."

"Oh yes. I wish I had that option," Diarmuid said with a sigh before applying himself to the stuff. It was damned foul, trail rations always were. Still, it was better to eat than not eat. Well, for him anyway.

After finishing the food they settled into the bedrolls but not to sleep exactly.

"If you don't mind, I would like to do this for you," Archer said softly, resting a hand on Diarmuid's belly. Diarmuid knew what he meant and swallowed a bit at the thought. He'd rarely experienced that pleasure, largely because he was hesitant to ask it. Diarmuid knew, with a glum certainty, that any woman he asked would do it but for all the wrong reasons.

"If you want to," Diarmuid said huskily and Archer smiled before suddenly going down on his cock. Diarmuid groaned as he was enfolded in wet heat and felt a beautiful suction. Gazing down, he watched that white head bobbing between his legs, felt the way that agile tongue slid over him. Resting a hand on that white head, Diarmuid twined his fingers through Archer's hair. Surprisingly soft and fine. His own hair was much coarser. "Shirou," Diarmuid breathed the name, feeling the foreign syllables rolling off his tongue. Such a beautiful name. Then the suction increased and Diarmuid groaned, letting his head fall back as he savored the feeling.

Diarmuid could feel the pressure and pleasure building as he came close to his peak. Just before he would have exploded, though, Archer let go of him with a lewd pop. Diarmuid caught his breath as Archer smiled at him before teasingly blowing on the wet flesh. Diarmuid exhaled sharply at the sensation. Then Archer was moving up his body, settling neatly against his thighs.

"Diarmuid," Archer's voice saying his name like that, so low and beautiful and full of need, sent shivers down his spine. Then Archer was grasping his cock and Diarmuid rested his hands on Archer's hips as his penis slipped into that waiting hole. Again, it was so incredibly tight! Was it always supposed to be like that? "Unh…" Archer's low moan was, like the last time, not entirely pleasure. Diarmuid vaguely noticed that even Archer's eyelashes were white as he closed his eyes for a moment, adjusting to being filled. Then those eyes opened and Diarmuid met his gaze, the eyes that reminded him of rich, rich honey.

Then Archer began to move his hips and it was Diarmuid's turn to moan as the heat encasing his dick flexed and trembled around him. Grasping muscular thighs, Diarmuid met Archer's movements, deeply enjoying every moment. Archer reached between them and Diarmuid watched, awestruck and captivated, as he began to stroke his own cock. God, that was a beautiful sight! As beautiful as all of Archer.

Gradually, the pace increased. Diarmuid let Archer take the lead in setting it and saw sweat beading on that warm, beautiful skin. Acting on sudden impulse, Diarmuid pushed himself up, grasping Archer's hair and pulling the other man into a deep and intimate kiss. Archer yielded to him, his mouth warm and pliant as their bodies rose and fell together. The pace didn't slacken for a moment, no, it increased and Diarmuid was left gasping at how good it felt.

"Mmm…" Diarmuid breathed in Archer's scent, the gentle musk and sweat. Archer looked completely undone, his breath coming quickly as his eyelids fluttered. Diarmuid cupped his cheek with one hand and Archer focused on him, their eyes meeting as the pleasure between them built. So… close…

Diarmuid came with a heavy cry and heard Archer's voice raised, harmonizing with his own. Diarmuid had that beautiful sensation again, that power was leaving him and flowing into Archer. He relished it, gasping as Archer's body milked him for both semen and magic.

When it was done, Archer rested his hands on Diarmuid's chest, shuddering with the aftershocks. Diarmuid lay gasping, undone by the intense pleasure.

"You truly are magic," Diarmuid murmured and Archer brushed a kiss against his neck.

"You are far more magical than I am, Diarmuid ua Duibhne," Archer murmured and Diarmuid had never heard his name said so intimately. Then Archer was gently pulling away and Diarmuid watched with heavy lidded eyes as his lover settled in to sleep.


	5. Oil is Sexy

“Archer, what are we doing here?” Diarmuid asked, puzzled by the place Archer had demanded they stop at. An apothecary? Why? The other man flashed him a quick smile as they tied up the horses.

“We need materials.” Materials? For what? Diarmuid was about to ask but Archer was already stepping inside. Feeling mildly baffled, he followed behind the man.

Diarmuid didn’t have to ask what Archer wanted, though. He immediately accosted the shop owner and asked if he had hand creams, lotions or mineral oils. The shop owner immediately showed them a good selection of oils.

“These are all scented, my lord.” Diarmuid sighed internally. Even wearing normal clothing, everyone assumed Archer was nobility. He definitely had the air about him. “I sell them in a pack as well, there’s a bit of a discount. It costs – “ The figure he named was hair-raising and Diarmuid blanched. Even if they talked him down to half-price that was too much! The shop owner noticed his reaction, of course, and continued completely unperturbed. “They are also sold individually. The price depends on the scent used, some are more expensive than others.”

“I see… may I sample them?” Archer asked politely and the shop owner began offering him samples, just waiving the vials beneath his nose. “This one, I particularly like it. Daud, what do you think?” Diarmuid sniffed the oil dubiously before blinking.

“It’s very pleasant.” Also quite foreign to him. He was sure nothing like it was available in Ireland. Archer seemed satisfied and began bargaining for a jar of that particular oil. The price was still a bit painful but Diarmuid paid for it. What in hell was it for though? Massages? A scented backrub would be nice but it was scarcely something they needed! “Archer, what is this for?” Diarmuid asked in a low tone as they left the shop. Archer gave him a small, enigmatic smile.

“The kind of thing you don’t discuss in public,” he said and Diarmuid blinked. Don’t discuss in – oh. OH. Feeling a blush creeping over his cheeks, he cleared his throat.

“I see.” Of course the oil would help Archer take his cock. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Because he was a damned idiot, that’s why. Diarmuid felt a touch flustered as Archer carefully put away the jar. Mounting their horses, they went to find an inn.

This was the first truly large town they’d reached since Stretzla and after they’d settled in, Diarmuid took the initiative to ask the innkeeper about the Einzberns.

“What do you want them for? Unchancy lot of wizards,” the man said, spitting on the floor. Diarmuid wished for a bit more cleanliness from an innkeeper. Although memories of belted knights doing the same damned thing kept him from saying anything.

“We have business with them. You have any idea where they are?” Diarmuid asked and the innkeeper just shook his head. “Well, thank you.” They’d have to ask around. And Archer had a suggestion for that.

“In a town this size, there’s likely a… variety shop that carries things interesting to real magic workers. The apothecary wasn’t it, I checked.” Oh really? “If we can find that store, they’ll have a better idea where to find the Einzberns. However, it won’t be easy to find.” Archer’s tone was wry as the barmaid brought them ale. “Wizards hide themselves well, partly to avoid annoying people asking for help with stupid things.” There was a twinkle in his eye and Diarmuid chuckled softly.

“You mean like us? Thank you lass,” Diarmuid said easily to the barmaid, who dimpled at him before going to help other customers. “What kind of stores will we need to look at?” Archer shrugged.

“Anything odd.” Darmuid lifted an eyebrow at him and Archer tried a bit harder. “Bookstores, sweet shops, even places that sell trail supplies. Anything that has a lot of small items might have a special section that only the magically inclined can see.” Ah. Interesting.

“We should check out the wine shop,” Diarmuid joked and Archer shook his head with a smile. “Archer, can you tell me a bit more about yourself? Did you have any siblings?” Diarmuid knew almost nothing about the other man.

“Mmm, no. I was orphaned at a young age and adopted by the man who played a large part in the death of my parents,” Archer said calmly and Diarmuid stared. Say what?!? Archer gave a one-shoulder shrug. “It wasn’t his fault. Raising me was a tiny thing compared to the destruction he caused, but there was nothing else he could do to make amends.” …Ah. “I loved him very much.” Diarmuid felt a strange pang in his heart at that. “I would ask about your family, but I already know.”

“Eh?” Diarmuid blinked at him, wondering what that meant. Archer smiled, but there was an edge of sorrow to it.

“You are one of Ireland’s ancestral heroes and your story has withstood the test of time. I know you had no siblings and while the legend doesn’t tell me your father’s character his actions seem… ominous.” Archer calmly sipped his ale and Diarmuid winced inside. “I presume you were closer to your foster-father and mentor.”

“Yes,” Diarmuid said gruffly, remembering. He didn’t hate his father, exactly, but he damned well didn’t like the man and was glad he’d been raised elsewhere. “What else do the legends say?” Diarmuid asked, feeling like he was pulling at a scab. But he was curious. Archer frowned, just a small expression before putting down his mug of ale.

“They mention your swords and spears. They tell the story of the Loathly Lady and the Cup, although I’ve read slightly different versions.” Archer’s tone became mildly amused. “I believe they tried to make the story more palatable to children… in the first book I read, it said that she was giving away puppies and that was why you were angry at her and kept reminding her of her ugliness.” Puppies?!? “The other story said she ‘offered hospitality’. I assume that’s why you were upset with her.”

“Ah, yes.” Diarmuid sighed as he remembered. It all seemed so far away now. Enchanted ships and mystical happenings were no longer… what in hell was he thinking, yes they were, magic was sitting across from him. “The other story is right,” Diarmuid said wryly and heard Archer’s soft chuckle. “It doesn’t bother me anymore.” His love for her had died when he’d saved her life, leaving behind only a bit of melancholy regret that he hadn’t been able to be more selfless. “What else? What of my life with Grainne? Did I marry her?” Diarmuid asked and Archer sighed, looking into his mug before taking another swig. Reminded, Diarmuid drank a bit of his beer. Ah, it was good.

“Yes, you did. In the myth, you lived with her for many years and had four sons and one daughter,” Archer said and Diarmuid felt a pang at the thought. He could have had children? “Before going to visit her father and being gored to death by a boar, which frankly was entirely your father’s fault.” What? “It was a young man he’d murdered, transformed and set to take vengeance upon you. Part of the conditions were that it could only happen when Fionn cursed you.” Archer frowned, his eyes going unfocused for a moment. “I should have realized the whole timeline was off. It’s much too early for you to have died… yet, I didn’t think of it. Or I thought the witch had somehow moved it up.” Archer paused for a moment before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I had noticed, my actions would not have changed.”

“I see.” Well, this was interesting but Diarmuid still didn’t know a lot about Archer. “What heroic deeds did you accomplish?” Diarmuid asked and regretted it as Archer’s eyes went cold.

“I saved countless men, women and children. I fought with all my strength to defend humanity. And my reward was to be branded a traitor and executed, blamed and betrayed by those I trusted the most.” Diarmuid stared, horrified, as Archer smiled. It was the same cold, brutal smile he’d worn when they first met. “And now I am a glorified midden-keeper, cleaning up Gaia’s little messes. And, like an utter fool, I volunteered for this. All to be a hero of justice.” Archer’s laugh was cutting and Diarmuid couldn’t stand it. Standing up, he reached over the table and gripped Archer’s shoulder so hard it had to hurt.

“Stop it. You couldn’t have known,” Diarmuid said, certain he spoke the truth. Archer hadn’t known what he was signing up for. Archer stopped laughing but Diarmuid could see the anguish lying beneath his calm composure. “And I am glad your foolishness brought you to me.” Diarmuid held Archer’s gaze until the anguish eased, replaced with true calm. A small smile quirked Archer’s lips and Diarmuid finally let go.

“You’re an idiot.” That could have been cutting but it came out affectionate. Diarmuid smiled as he took his seat, lifting his mug. Ah, almost done. “Hm, it’s too late to go looking for that shop but too early to retire. Perhaps we should practice,” Archer suggested and Diarmuid nodded.

“I would like to see what you can do.” And Archer had a sword, taken from the men who’d held him captive. “Hopefully there’s some space,” Diarmuid muttered. But inns like this often had some open areas for just such things, catering as they did to wandering hire-swords.

As it turned out, there was. Diarmuid was able to cross swords with Archer and soon realized the man was extremely good. Good enough to be a knight? With absolute certainty. In fact, he moved almost too nimbly, reminding Diarmuid that he was not a real man. Ah, it was beautiful though, the way Archer almost seemed to dance –

“OW!” Getting disarmed like an idiot wasn’t part of the plan though. Archer paused, looking at him with a mildly questioning expression as Diarmuid shook his stinging hand. “Sorry. You distracted me,” Diarmuid muttered, feeling a blush spreading. That had been damned idiotic. Archer’s soft chuckle made it worse.

“The trick to defeating a great hero. Distract him by being devastatingly attractive,” Archer’s tone was wry and Diarmuid blushed darker for a moment before scooping up his sword.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Now, defend yourself!” And they were having at it again. This time, Diarmuid concentrated harder. He had to use all his skill but in the end he redeemed himself and defeated Archer, putting him on the ground. “Do you yield?” Diarmuid asked and Archer’s eyes lightened with amusement.

“To you? Always.” Ach! Diarmuid was glad they were speaking Gaelic, particularly when he let Archer up and heard clapping. Turning in surprise, he saw they had an audience of fellow hire-swords and random gawkers. Diarmuid handled it well, giving them a smile and a wave as Archer sheathed his sword.

Pleasantly tired and ready to eat, they retired to the inn. Supper was a delicious hunter’s stew, full of pork sausage, rabbit meat, cabbage and sauerkraut. It came with heavy rye bread to sop it up. It went marvelously well with the heavy beer and Diarmuid enjoyed every bite. It was likely just luck, but this stew was as fine as any meal he’d had at Fionn’s table.

“Mmm, incredible,” Archer sighed in pleasure and Diarmuid looked up to see him licking off his spoon. The slow strokes of his tongue were interesting, to say the least. “I wish I could get the recipe but I doubt they’d share it.”

“Hah, no, probably not.” It might be a specialty of the inn. In fact, that was likely. “I’ll have to remember this place,” Diarmuid murmured. This really was a fine inn, reasonably priced, reasonably clean with excellent food. Archer smiled, but it was a bit pensive.

“I hope you’ll be able to come back,” Archer said quietly and Diarmuid was reminded that Archer thought he would die in Ireland. And if he was being honest, Diarmuid thought it was likely true, particularly after hearing Archer’s knowledge of his life. A great hero… despite knowing his own accomplishments it was strange to think so of himself.

After they were done supper and repaired to their rooms, Diarmuid got a chance to see the oil in use. Although as Archer disrobed, he suddenly had a vision of the other man, his muscles coated in the oil and glistening. God, what an entrancing vision! They didn’t have enough oil for that though.

Yet, it did give him an idea. Diarmuid stepped up behind Archer, resting his hands on the other man’s shoulders and nuzzling him affectionately. Archer leaned back against him and Diarmuid murmured in his ear.

“Can you lie down on the bed?” he asked and Archer gave him a curious look but complied, lying down on the bed. To Diarmuid’s pleasure, Archer settled in on his stomach. Perhaps the other man realized what was on his mind. Taking a bit of the oil, Diarmuid warmed it on his palms before resting his hands on Archer’s shoulders, spreading the oil.

“Diarmuid? Are you… ah…” Diarmuid smiled as he wordlessly answered the question, gently kneading the muscles. He was no great expert but he’d given and received a few massages, particularly after sleeping many days on hard, hard ground. “Mmm, you can go harder… I like that…” Diarmuid was tempted to make a particularly dirty joke but held off, obligingly increasing the pressure. Archer made a soft sound of pleasure. When Diarmuid finally drew his hands away, Archer’s shoulders glinted in the candlelight, muscles lined with oil.

Entranced by the sight, Diarmuid quickly got rid of his pants. Archer was looking over his shoulder with a small yet so very seductive smile.

“Would you like to take me like this? Because I would very much enjoy it,” Archer said, his voice like dark honey. It teased Diarmuid’s ears and sent a shiver down his spine. Vaguely Diarmuid was aware of the fact that he was already erect and hard, ready for his lover.

“Oh god yes,” Diarmuid said huskily and Archer chuckled, softly, before moving to his hands and knees. His warm skin gleamed and Diarmuid noted that it definitely wasn’t a tan, not like any peasant would have. Not unless Archer sunbathed his balls, anyway. Chuckling at his own silliness, Diarmuid joined Archer on the bed, sliding his hands over that teasing skin. His hands let behind more oil and god it was beautiful!

The oil made everything so much easier. Diarmuid could feel the difference, it was vastly easier to get himself inside and while Archer’s body was still beautifully tight, moving was easier. The sound Archer made, too, was different, far more pleasured. Settling against Archer’s back, Diarmuid kissed his shoulder, reaching beneath him to stroke his cock as he slowly began to thrust. The warm flesh in his hand felt good, that contact also smoothed by the oil.

“That oil was worth it…” Diarmuid murmured and Archer chuckled softly before gasping. The way he bowed his head, the sight of those gleaming shoulders as the muscles flexed… oh god Archer was gorgeous. Diarmuid took him more firmly, speeding the strokes of his hand. Archer turned his head and Diarmuid understood what he wanted, catching his lips in a deep and intimate kiss.

The beautiful tightness around his cock urged him onwards and Diarmuid soon felt his orgasm approaching. The cock in his hand was throbbing and he was sure Archer was close. Archer’s low, lust filled moan hit him hard and Diarmuid abruptly found his climax, shuddering as he spent himself in the other man’s body. A few more strokes and Archer’s cock suddenly pulsed, erupting and coating his hand with seed.

They were both left breathless and Diarmuid gently rested a kiss on the back of Archer’s neck before pulling away. Archer slumped onto his side, gazing up at him with a satisfied air. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath and Diarmuid was struck again by Archer’s exotic beauty. Although…

“Have you bewitched me?” Diarmuid suddenly asked. It was a bit strange. He’d never desired a man until he met Archer and even now, if he tried to imagine other men it did nothing for him. This was only for Archer. Archer chuckled softly.

“If I have, then you’ve also bewitched me,” Archer said before closing his eyes for a moment. “I know it’s foolish to become attached to you. Even if you enter the Throne of Heroes, you will be the kind of spirit I am not,” Archer said in a low tone before opening his eyes. Diarmuid was struck by the quiet grief in them. “I am fated to be alone… but I cannot help but grasp at what I can. I am sorry.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Diarmuid said instantly, gently cupping Archer’s cheek and pulling him into a gentle kiss. The other man yielded instantly, his lips so warm and welcoming. “We should just enjoy what we have.”

“Yes,” Archer whispered before turning his head to blow out the candle. The room descended into darkness and Diarmuid settled in to sleep beside him.

Enjoying what he had.


	6. Just too Handsome

The next day.

“I don’t know if I should be irritated or amused,” Archer said as they idly poked through the contents of the magic shop. Diarmuid couldn’t help but grin. “I never would have guessed it would be the wine shop.”

“Heh.” They’d checked out almost everything else before finally paying the wine shop a visit, mostly for the hell of it. Diarmuid had seen nothing but Archer had spat a particularly foul oath before marching him over to a bunch of empty barrels. Which weren’t actually empty barrels. A hand over his eyes and a strange feeling later and Diarmuid could see what was really there, the odds and bobs that wizards apparently valued. “What are all these stones for?” Diarmuid asked curiously, picking up an agate. Very pretty but what did a wizard use it for?

“Gem magic is not uncommon and while semi-precious stones aren’t ideal, they’re cheap,” Archer said absently, glancing around. “And if I don’t get some help here I’m going to start juggling these rooster’s eggs.” Diarmuid eyed the eggs with alarm. Would he really? “Say that in the right language for me please?” HAH! Diarmuid obligingly repeated the words, quite loudly.

Fortunately that threat got them service. Unfortunately, it was horrifically bad service.

“What the hell do you wastrels want?” A woman who might charitably described as not attractive sneered at them. Uncharitably, she could easily get the title of hag.

“We are looking for the Einzberns. If you can point us in the right direction I would be grateful,” Diarmuid said. Archer held out a coin but she spurned it with an open palm.

“HAH! As if I’d send them a few muscle boys with more meat than brains,” her sneer increased and Diarmuid reflected that it was almost a pity she was a woman. If a man had treated him like this he’d be contemplating bloody murder. Archer’s back was very stiff although his face betrayed no irritation. Hm, he must be getting the general gist even if he couldn’t properly speak the language yet. “If you want anything from me, you’ll show me your magic. Only wizards and witches get help here.” …Oh bloody hell! “And no damned barbarian runes.” Diarmuid stiffened as she fixed him with a beady eyed stare.

“Now just a damned – “ He started hotly but Archer’s cold voice interrupted him.

“Trace on.” Archer’s hands were abruptly filled with cold metal and Diarmuid stared at the foreign yet beautiful blades. Exotic and dangerous, they seemed like a metaphor for Archer himself. “Does this satisfy you?” Diarmuid translated. The woman examined the blades carefully for a moment before grunting.

“Creation magic. A wizard you are then,” she muttered and the blades vanished. Diarmuid would have been pleased but he saw the shadow of pain in Archer’s eyes, the way he was suddenly struggling to draw a full breath. Damn the stupid woman for making him exert himself! “The Einzbern’s castle can be found at Icht Nachz. It’s a bit North of the town, which exists but to serve them. Don’t bother asking anyone in the town about them, they’re terrified of the Einzberns.” …What kind of people were these? “You want that collar off your neck don’t you? I can smell the stench of it from here. You’d best have something good to give the Einzberns or they’ll take it off by removing your head.”

“I know of their nature and I have a bribe they’ll find compelling.” Archer said, composed, before offering her the coin again. This time the hag took it. “Thank you for the information.” Diarmuid translated and the hag chuckled harshly.

“Don’t thank me boy. You stink of earth and stars,” she said and beady eyes suddenly fixed on Diarmuid. “Don’t follow this one. His mistress will chew you up and spit you out.” Diarmuid swallowed but then squared his shoulders.

“I’ll do as I please. But thank you for your consideration,” he said with sarcasm and the hag wheezed a chuckle. As they exited the shop, Diarmuid noticed Archer’s back was very stiff. Hopefully he wasn’t reflecting on the hag’s parting words too much. Well, if he’d fully understood them.

Then any concern of that went to the wayside as Archer almost collapsed outside the shop.

“Archer!” Diarmuid managed to catch him as Archer’s legs buckled. The man was grimacing, a hand pressed to his forehead. “Are you well?” That was probably a stupid question. Archer looked up, almost blindly, the pupils of his eyes much too small.

“No. The inn. I need…” Archer’s voice was unsteady and Diarmuid mentally cursed the hag as he helped Archer onto a horse. Now they needed to have sex and Diarmuid hoped to god that Archer would remain conscious. He did not want to take Archer’s unconscious body, even if the man was truly willing.

By the time they reached the inn, Archer was sagging in the saddle and Diarmuid had to help him off the horse, then inside. That alarmed the innkeeper.

“Is he well?” the man eyed them in alarm and Diarmuid immediately reassured him.

“It’s just head pains.” Diarmuid knew all about those kind of pains. He’d suffered a single bad episode that had made his vision a weird yellow color and all the scents around him become maddening. Also, one of the other knights had gotten them once a month like clockwork. “He needs to lay down in a dark room for a while and he’ll be right as rain.” That always worked for the knight in question. The innkeeper looked relieved and Diarmuid quickly took Archer up the stairs to his room, feeling the other man sagging against him. Was it his imagination or did Archer feel lighter?

Diarmuid settled Archer onto the bed and began disrobing him. Archer helped, his hands shaking but able to move. For Diarmuid that was an immense relief. Pulling the clothes off, though, revealed something that horrified him.

“What is this?” Diarmuid whispered, looking at Archer’s chest. It looked like there was a line of darkness painted on his skin and was it… wriggling? He reached out, fascinated and repulsed but Archer caught his hand before he could touch it.

“That is how I decay,” Archer said, his voice far from its usual tones. He sounded breathless and wheezy. “Fortunately it’s… small… for now…” Taking the hint, Diarmuid quickly pulled his own clothes off.

It was hard making love to Archer like this, though, so hard. Diarmuid gently shifted Archer so he was laying on his side. This position would be easiest on him, Archer didn’t have the strength for much else. For a moment, Diarmuid just lay behind Archer, painfully aware of his flaccid cock. He needed to arouse himself and quickly, but how?

Diarmuid closed his eyes, breathing in Archer’s scent. That light, masculine musk mixed with the pleasant smell of wet earth and a small, odd tang. Was that what the hag had meant about stars? He’d never noticed it before. As he took in Archer’s scent, memories came back to him. Archer sitting by the pot over the fire, stirring it with calm concentration. Archer silhouetted by the setting sun, making his white hair look like it burned. His small smile and the affection in his eyes. Dark skin dappled with oil and gleaming in the candlelight…

Diarmuid realized his body had come to stiffness when Archer shifted against him, rubbing his bottom teasingly against Diarmuid’s penis. Hm, the oil, they had a bit of time. Diarmuid rolled over and found the little jar on the bedstand. Quickly coating his fingers in it, he began gently opening Archer up, sliding his fingers inside. Archer’s hand caught in the blankets, tangling with the cloth as he moaned softly. Diarmuid rested a kiss on his shoulder as he drew his fingers away, gently cupping Archer’s balls. They felt nice in his hand, heavy and warm. Sliding a hand over Archer’s cock, Diarmuid found that the other man was only at half-mast. A few slow, firm strokes corrected that and another low moan teased his ears.

The position they were in did not allow for deep penetration, but it was charming despite that. Diarmuid enjoyed the slower pace, breathing in Archer’s scent as he gently stroked the other man’s cock. Archer’s heavy breathing and the occasional, soft sound told Diarmuid he was still awake. Diarmuid moved his hand from Archer’s cock, to grip his thigh, deepening the penetration. Diarmuid gasped as Archer’s insides seemed to flex around him, tightening in an incredibly pleasant way. This wasn’t taking long… but then, they didn’t want it to take long…

As Diarmuid came he had that feeling again, of strength leaving his body and entering Archer. Flesh seemed to firm under his hands and Archer’s gasp was music to his ears. The way he shuddered, finding his release, was even better. Diarmuid savored every moment before running a hand over Archer’s chest, feeling only warm skin and hard muscle. Archer caught his hand and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” Archer murmured softly and Diarmuid smiled, gently kissing his shoulder as they rested together. Then, though, Diarmuid’s stomach suddenly growled. Archer looked over his shoulder with an amused smile as Diarmuid blushed. “I think it’s supper time?”

“Yes.” A bit late now. Diarmuid gently separated from Archer’s body. He sighed before pulling himself out of the bed. A bit of cum slid down Archer's thigh but he only looked at it thoughtfully before finding a rag to clean himself off.

For some reason, perhaps just because he wanted to, Archer put on his fine coat over his plain shirt and trousers. Diarmuid said nothing because really, there was no reason he shouldn’t. The fine clothing was more of a concern when they were on the road.

When they went downstairs, the innkeeper seemed glad to see them, particularly Archer. Diarmuid could guess why. They said the Black Spot was ravaging the southern kingdoms, particularly around the Mediterranean Sea. That was far from here, far enough that the people of these northern countries were praying they might be spared. They might not though and they all knew it. Diarmuid grimaced at the thought. The Black Spot had yet to visit Ireland, thanks to it being an island and not too friendly to outsiders. Yet, their luck could always change.

At least the innkeeper was reassured that Archer was fine, though. Soon they were seated and ordering supper, a beef and barley stew with heavy rye bread. The beer that came with it was dark and heavy. Diarmuid took a deep drink, relishing it.

“They make damned good beer here,” he said and Archer nodded with a small smile. A smile that vanished into complete unreadability as he gazed to the side. Diarmuid followed his gaze and saw a rather richly dressed man walking towards them. His purple coat had to have cost a fortune! And the gold frogging was a little excessive. Diarmuid thought that Archer’s coat was more tasteful.

“Might I join you?” The stranger asked politely enough and Diarmuid’s eyes slid to meet Archer’s. Archer gave a one-shoulder shrug and Diarmuid nodded.

“If you wish,” he said easily. The man screamed ‘possible employer’ although Diarmuid’s hopes were faint that it would come to anything. Still, he could at least find out if the man’s task was taking him towards the Einzberns. If so, there was no reason not to make a bit of coin. The man ordered his own beer but no food and quickly got down to business.

“My daughter is going to Dej to marry her fiancée.” That was the correct direction! A bit short of where they were going, too. “She will be bringing her dowry and for some reason, the fools in this town believe I am rich.” …He couldn’t imagine why. “I am told your noble lord employs you as armsman and translator.” Archer really couldn’t escape being nobility. Diarmuid thought he knew where this was going, though, and didn’t like it. “I had hoped we might combine our might to avoid danger on the road.” No way in hell!

“My lord is far from rich,” Diarmuid riposted immediately. “If he was, would I be his sole retainer?” That was a very important point. Even the poorest hedge lord in Ireland would have at least three armsmen, although they might be his sons. The other man’s lips tightened and Diarmuid reflected that the rich stayed rich by not spending money when they needn’t. “You will have to pay us both a fair wage,” Diarmuid said firmly and the man scowled.

“A lord, accepting money for his sword?” he jibed and Diarmuid glowered. “Does he have no honor?” Diarmuid would have snarled a reply but Archer’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“I think I understand but can you please translate?” Archer’s voice calmed him and Diarmuid took a deep breath before relating the conversation. Archer looked at the stranger calmly but his eyes were cold. “Tell him I left behind my honor a long time ago. Like the Einzberns, I do no favors.” Diarmuid related the comment and the man looked like he’d sucked a lemon rather than a fine beer. But he finally named a figure… an insultingly low one.

Diarmuid handled the dickering, pausing to consult with Archer. His comments were always insightful but having to translate them mitigated the impact. Finally, though, they reached an agreement. Overall, Diarmuid was pleased. He’d squeezed out a reasonable amount of money to go where they were going anyway. The man left just as the food arrived – excellent timing! – and Archer mused to himself as they began to eat.

“I wonder if they’ll have a bow I can borrow?” Diarmuid looked at him in surprise and Archer explained. “Archer is actually my title. My bow is my greatest weapon although I am also proficient with my swords.” Ah, the two weapons he’d seen in the wine store.

“Is your bow also magic?” Diarmuid asked and Archer nodded with a small sigh. “I see.” That explained why he hadn’t mentioned it. Buying a bow just for the trip to the Einzberns wasn’t worth it.

“My bow can fire normal arrows, but also pieces of ancient weapons, broken phantasms,” Archer said and Diarmuid tried not to look as lost as he felt. “I form them into arrows and they explode on impact. My supply of them is unlimited.” Why was he…? Archer must have read the question in his face because his tone became wry. “If you’re determined to follow me to Ireland you need to know this.”

“Will we need to ride back to Ireland when you have your magic back? Or will you magic us there?” Diarmuid asked, wondering. It seemed odd that a spirit would have to travel like that and Archer had been magicked here. Surely he could be magicked back? Archer licked his spoon, his expression remote.

“It depends on what the World wills. However, I think I will be magically returned, most likely using you as a catalyst.” What? Archer saw his incomprehension. “You were born in Ireland, lived and in most realities, died there. Your story echoes through history… using you, the World could easily transport us.” Archer looked into his bowl. “Although I still wish you wouldn’t.” That was so low Diarmuid could barely hear it.

“I have to,” he said firmly and Archer looked up, a tiny, troubled smile on his face.

“I know.” And they said nothing more about that. Diarmuid felt it hanging between them, though, like a dark cloud. Archer was sure he would die in Ireland. Was he right? And did it really matter if he was?

Diarmuid thought about it before coming to the same conclusion he had before. It didn’t matter. Fionn was in danger, the Fianna were in danger, Ireland herself was in danger. Archer had failed once and if he went back alone he might fail again. Even without Gae Buldhe or Gae Bolg, Diarmuid might make all the difference. He could not turn aside.

When they returned to their rooms, though, Archer seemed quietly depressed. Instead of disrobing with his usual efficiency, he sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Diarmuid. His shoulders were slumped and his hair glowed in the candlelight.

“Please tell me you’re not doing this for me,” Archer said and Diarmuid responded instantly.

“I’m not,” Diarmuid said with absolute conviction. Archer lifted his head, turning to look at him and their eyes met. “I’m doing this for Fionn, the Fianna, for Ireland. For Grainne.” She was last on his list because she was dead and no further harm could come to her. But Diarmuid wanted justice for her, revenge on the witch who had taken her life to steal her face. Archer looked away.

“That… doesn’t make me feel better. I am still the instrument,” Archer said in a low tone and Diarmuid couldn’t stand it. He knelt on the bed behind Archer before hugging him from behind. Archer was still for a moment before a hand reached up to grip his wrist. “But I have no choice.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry about it,” Diarmuid said firmly. Archer chuckled softly but it was a sad, melancholy sound. “Come, let’s sleep.” Diarmuid was sure Archer didn’t need more magic and he actually felt very tired, likely from the exertions earlier. Archer squeezed his wrist for a moment before letting go and Diarmuid took the hint, letting go of him and slipping off the bed.

They both disrobed and settled into the bed, facing each other. Archer curled up and closed his eyes and Diarmuid just watched him a moment. He was so peaceful when he slept, his face relaxed and his white eyelashes just brushing his cheeks. Diarmuid privately admitted that even if nothing else had been at stake, he’d have followed Archer to Ireland. Was this love? It felt like it, it truly did.

A bit bemused by the thought, Diarmuid closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift to sleep.

* * *

 

The next day started on a poor note.

They had breakfast, which was surprisingly bad. The poor woman bringing it to them apologized profusely and said a child had accidentally knocked a pot of salt into the porridge. They’d thinned it until it was edible, but just barely. They were already making a new batch but Diarmuid decided they just couldn’t wait and managed to choke it down. After a single bite, Archer pushed his aside.

Not waiting was the correct action, though. Just as they were finishing getting the horses ready, the young woman and her entourage arrived. And entourage was the right word for it. Three men at arms, one man who seemed a bookish sort, a secretary? A fluttery maid, a dried up puss of an old woman and the maiden herself.

Upon being introduced to the young woman, Diarmuid wondered if they’d made a horrible mistake. If he hadn’t known the curse was broken he’d have thought her bewitched, from the way she smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. Interestingly, her reaction to Archer was quite different. She recoiled a little from the white-haired man before forcing a smile on her face. Archer seemed polite enough, even giving her a few words in her own language, but Diarmuid could see the coldness in his eyes.

They began travelling and Diarmuid understood why they’d wanted extra guards. They were bringing a covered wagon which apparently held a large part of the dowry. The rest was going to be supplied in the form of trade arrangements, according to the chatty maid. Diarmuid kept alert as they rode, aware that trouble might truly find them.

“Can you ask them if they have a bow in there I could borrow?” Archer asked and Diarmuid relayed the question. The men talked amongst themselves for a moment before pulling out a well-made bow, small enough that it could be used mounted, and a quiver of arrows. Apparently there was supposed to be a man in the cart armed with it but he’d come down ill. Hmm.

“Perhaps my lord could take that spot? He is an able bowman,” Diarmuid said politely and the men favored the idea. Archer’s horse was tied to the end of the wagon and Archer had an excellent vantage atop the wagon. Diarmuid was sure that anyone attempting to ambush them would suffer deeply from his arrows. The maiden they were escorting seemed relieved to have Archer away from her as well.

Unfortunately, that gave her more time to flirt with Diarmuid, something he didn’t enjoy. Fortunately the old puss was interfering, staying quite close and snappishly pulling up her mistress when she went a touch too far. Diarmuid responded politely to her chatter but tried to keep his attention on the surroundings. Hopefully he could be boring enough that she’d lose interest.

As they made camp, though, things came to a head. Diarmuid was gathering wood when warm arms suddenly went around him, far too slim and delicate to be Archer. He pulled away sharply and turned to see the maiden pouting at him. Diarmuid bit back hot words even though he really wanted to give the woman hell. What was this?!

“My lady, you are to be married. This is unseemly,” he said, trying to imitate Archer at his coldest. Her pout turned into a scowl.

“It was arranged by my father. He’s three times my age!” …How terribly familiar yet not his problem. “And you need to get away from that dreadful lord of yours.” Dreadful? “Please, run away with me. I have valuables, we could have a beautiful life together.” Diarmuid bit back a groan. He was irresistible without his beauty spot too? Or was her fiancée just that odious? Well, it was possible.

“I will not. My life is sworn to my lord,” Diarmuid said firmly and she pouted again before smiling. It was an ugly, twisted expression.

“I can make you.” Diarmuid tensed as she lifted a hand and his eyes widened as he saw light between her fingers. He didn’t want to be geased again! Yet the thought of striking a woman made him hesitate.

That hesitation might have been fatal but a tanned hand snapped down over a pale one and light vanished as the woman flinched.

“No,” Archer said clearly, in this lands language. “ _Mine._ ” She tried to pull away and Archer let her, releasing her hand.

“You don’t own him! You’re not a human, you’re some kind of clockwork doll!” She hissed and Diarmuid blinked. Clockwork doll? Archer’s face was blank and Diarmuid was sure he wasn’t catching most of this, she was talking too fast. “You’re just _wrong_ and you’re wearing a curse around your neck! I don’t know what you want him for but I’ll save him from you! I will!” She ran to a halt, panting, and Archer just gazed at her for a moment before looking at him.

“Tell the little witch that I don’t understood what she said, but she will not place a spell on an unwilling man and she will not touch what is mine,” Archer said and Diarmuid obligingly translated before adding his own piece.

“I know what my lord is better than you do, but I follow him anyway. I will not turn aside,” Diarmuid said firmly and she widened her eyes at him. Her expression of concern for him was well done but he didn’t believe it. “Please leave us, the wood will not gather itself.” She hesitated a moment before stomping off in a huff. Diarmuid was glad to see her go but damn it all, he’d wasted too much time and they really needed the firewood.

“Let me help you,” Archer said and Diarmuid smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he said and they gathered the wood together. Honestly, Diarmuid was glad that Archer couldn’t understand what the girl had said. Her words might have wounded him. Although. “She’s a witch?” Diarmuid asked and Archer nodded, gathering sticks.

“Albeit a bad one. I doubt that spell she was trying to cast would have worked, even if I hadn’t disrupted it. Of course, it wouldn’t have been a geas,” Archer said and Diarmuid blinked. Not a geas? “Not in the sense of being ancestral Irish magic, that is. For compulsions and charms, the perspective of the one being compelled matters. You see geases as a powerful thing and that makes them stronger, even in the hands of a weak practitioner. Her foreign magic would not have that advantage.”

“That’s getting a bit deep for me, but I’m glad to hear I would likely not have fallen under her sway,” Diarmuid said easily as they carried the wood back to camp. “Hmm, too damp. Should we put it in the wagon?” There was already plenty dry wood stored there, meant for campfires. Archer nodded.

“It might be more practical.” Suiting words to deeds, they placed the wood in the wagon. As they did, Archer continued to talk. “I think her father is also a wizard and hired us mostly to make use of me. I suspect he understood what I am.” What, really? “She doesn’t but is perceptive enough to grasp some of it. I imagine her fiancée is another wizard and this is partly a power match. Her innate power is not bad but her skills are abominable. I suspect she has not been formally trained.”

“…Ah.” Diarmuid almost felt badly for the girl then. She was being treated as a broodmare, denied any training in her own version of the runes. Well, that wasn’t much different from the lot of women anywhere really. “Well, her conduct is not our problem,” he said firmly and heard Archer’s soft chuckle.

“No, supper is. Which I fear is in the process of being burnt,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and for a moment Diarmuid had no idea what he meant. Then he sniffed the air and caught the distinct and awful whiff of burning cheese.

“Oh hell!” What were those idiots doing? As it turned out they were trying to toast bread over the fire with toasting forks and making a hash of it. Archer was soon showing them how it was done and before long they all had bread topped with delicious melted cheese. As he ate, Diarmuid felt more than saw the woman gazing at him longingly. He pointedly ignored it.

Diarmuid was definitely not interested in engaging with another Grainne.


	7. Meeting the Einzberns

The attack came shortly before they reached Dej.

Later, Diarmuid would think the timing was quite deliberate. The bandits had wanted to take them when they were confident of their destination, relaxing in anticipation of finishing their task. And if not for Archer, it might have worked. Diarmuid was as surprised as any of them when Archer’s bow twanged and a man fell out of the bushes ahead of them, howling in pain. There was an enraged bellow and suddenly the woods vomited men.

There were over ten of them and the defenders were badly outnumbered. But Archer had ruined the ambush and arrows slashed down on the strangers. Many of them were hurt and killed before they could reach the maiden’s guards. Diarmuid noticed in the corner of his eye that the scholar had gotten the women to the wagon and now had a knife out. Good, at least the man wasn’t helpless.

For Diarmuid, then, the magic happened. That was how he always thought of it. For him battle was beautiful, uplifting. Those around him seemed to move so slowly and killing them was nearly effortless. At the same time, Diarmuid knew what was happening around him. He would have been far more dangerous with his magical weapons but even with plain steel, Diarmuid was fearsome.

Then something beneath his foot slipped. Diarmuid’s eyes widened as he struggled to recover quickly enough but they were too _close_. He saw a snaggle-toothed grin and one of the bandits going for the kill. Then blood suddenly painted his face and Diarmuid swore, wiping it away with one hand. To his surprise, he saw the two men he’d been facing were dead. One with a knife in the throat, the other with an arrow in the eye. Diarmuid whistled at that. Incredible marksmanship! Looking around, he saw the battle was over. The few remaining bandits had fled.

“You are unhurt?” Speak of the devil. Diarmuid smiled at Archer, who was beside him holding his bow.

“I’m fine thanks to you. An incredible shot,” Diarmuid said warmly but Archer grimaced a little.

“A dangerous one. Yet, I had no choice. I’m just glad I didn’t hit you,” Archer said and Diarmuid just shrugged. It had gone well, that was all that mattered. Glancing over their own men Diarmuid saw that one of them had been killed. The other two men-at-arms were alive, although one was being seen to by the old puss, who seemed to be able with bandages. The scholar was standing guard over them, his knife still in hand. Hmm, that reminded him.

“Whose knife is this?” Diarmuid asked, bending over the dead body and freeing the blade. Archer retrieved his arrow from the other one, dunking it in the snow to remove the blood.

“Um? Oh, that is mine,” the scholar said belatedly, to Diarmuid’s surprise. He shrugged, a little uncomfortable at the attention. “Throwing knives are the one thing I am good with.”

“Well, thank you. You might have saved my life,” Diarmuid said and the man pinked a little. Cleaning his blade and then the knife, he gave it back to the scholar before checking on the fallen man. Archer was sorting through the battlefield, retrieving arrows and looting bodies. “How is he?”

“I believe he will live,” the old woman said calmly as she employed a needle and thread, closing wounds that were too large to leave open. Diarmuid appreciated her calm competence. The maid and the maiden were both sobbing together and being completely useless. The man in question had fainted, which was likely for the best. “But he will need to go in the wagon. He is unfit to ride.”

“Yes, of course,” Diarmuid said, noting the fallen man was the one in charge. Glancing around, he saw no one else seemed inclined to take leadership. Well, he could take care of it. “You there, help me arrange things in the wagon.” They would need to make space for him.

Soon enough, they were ready to go. The fallen man was tied to Archer’s horse like a sack, so they could take him for a proper burial. The bandits were left to rot where they fell. Diarmuid reflected on the battle for a moment. It hadn’t been his best, but that was entirely due to his lack of any magical weapons. He’d killed how many? Five? Before things had gotten sticky. That was impressive for any knight. It did make him wonder how well he’d be able to help Archer though. But then, Archer had mentioned shadowy phantasms, corrupted knights. If Diarmuid held them off surely Archer could do what needed doing.

When they got to Dej, they delivered the maiden and her dowry to her fiancée, who paid the second half of their fee without complaint. He also offered them a place to stay at his mansion, which they declined. Diarmuid wished they could accept – the place looked nice and the man seemed pleasant enough for a wizard – but he wanted to get away from the maiden.

So instead of staying there, they found a relatively nice inn. Not quite as good as the last one, perhaps, but still quite acceptable. Supper was a heavy stew of beans and salt pork, seasoned with salt and herbs. Diarmuid tucked in with good appetite, watching Archer a bit as he did. Archer was looking quietly content, his eyes unfocused as he chewed, completely involved in his food.

As they ate, Diarmuid thought about the past few days. They’d needed to stay very quiet at night and that had been a strange turn-on when they made love. The sight of Archer biting his hand to stay silent as he came… it had been beautiful. Diarmuid was starting to feel a touch guilty though. He could allow Archer to take him and Diarmuid was sure they would both enjoy it. Admittedly, Diarmuid was a little afraid of it. He’d had a finger there, several times, but nothing larger than that. Still, they had the oil and he was certain Archer wouldn’t hurt him.

When he brought it up, though, Archer’s response surprised him.

“That would be unwise,” Archer said calmly as he cleaned off his spoon with flicks of his tongue. Diarmuid stared, confused. Archer’s lips quirked in that tiny, adorable smile of his. “It’s been a long time since I was alive, but I still remember the first time I had sex with a man. We had a better lubricant but the next day, I could hardly sit. I shudder to think what riding would be like.”

“…Oh.” Diarmuid felt a blush rising and cleared his throat. “I see. That makes sense.” Not for the first time, he was glad they were speaking Gaelic. No one in the inn could possibly understand them. “I… do wish I could give that to you,” Diarmuid murmured, looking down in embarrassment. Archer’s dry little chuckle made him blush more.

“Don’t worry about it. I love anything you give me,” he said lightly and that suddenly gave Diarmuid an idea. He could certainly do that and the thought didn’t bother him at all.

So later that night, in their room, Diarmuid put his idea into effect. As soon as Archer was disrobed he pushed the other man against the wall, smiling at his upraised eyebrow. Then Diarmuid knelt in front of him, considering how to start.

“Diarmuid, you don’t have to… uh…” Archer’s surprised voice turned into a groan as Diarmuid began to gently kiss his thighs. The warm skin felt silky soft under his lips and he gave it plenty of attention before moving to Archer’s balls. Slow, firm strokes of his tongue made Archer gasp and then Diarmuid paused to gently suck. It tasted interesting, slightly salty. “Diarmuid… ah…” Archer was beginning to sound undone. Diarmuid paused before pulling back a bit and blowing on the overheated skin. “Ah! Don’t… do that…” Archer panted and Diarmuid grinned before sliding a hand over wet flesh. As he cupped Archer’s balls he went down on his cock. It was a new experience for him, having a cock in his mouth, but Diarmuid found it was rather pleasant. What made it good was Archer’s reactions, the pleasure he was giving to his lover.

That thought in mind, Diarmuid settled in to give Archer as much joy as he could. Archer’s gasps and moans were music to his ears, as Diarmuid learned what pleased him the most. He found that Archer liked it best when he hollowed his cheeks, creating more suction.

Finally, though, Archer moaned a warning and tugged on his hair. Diarmuid pulled back, the salty taste of pre-cum on his lips. He rested a hand on Archer’s thigh, looking up at the gasping and trembling man.

“How was that, Shirou?” Diarmuid asked, rolling Archer’s true name in his mouth. Honey brown eyes looked down at him with intense heat.

“Wonderful and I’m dying to feel you inside me,” Archer said and that sent heat to his cock. Diarmuid pulled himself up and pressed Archer against the wall, kissing him deeply. “Take me right here, like this.” Oh my god the thought of it!

Diarmuid hitched up Archer’s legs, barely remembering the oil. He almost fumbled it but managed to coat his fingers before gently preparing his lover. The look on his face, the heat in Archer’s eyes made it hard to concentrate. Archer breathed an encouragement in his ear and Diarmuid couldn’t wait, grasping his thighs and sheathing himself in that wet heat. Archer’s groan hit him hard and Diarmuid kissed the other man’s throat before beginning to move.

“Shirou,” Diarmuid breathed in his ear. Archer shuddered, those long, lean legs wrapping firmly around his waist. Diarmuid reached between them, stroking Archer’s cock with firm yet gentle strokes. Their lips met and Shirou was so sweet on his tongue, like sunlight on a summer day. Diarmuid couldn’t imagine being without this man.

The position made things quicker. Diarmuid couldn’t help but go faster, take Archer harder. Thankfully the other man didn’t mind, breathing encouragements in his ear. Shirou gripped his hair and pulled him into another kiss and Diarmuid felt him moan into his mouth. Those warm insides flexed around him, grasping beautifully on his cock. God, it was so good!

Diarmuid shuddered as his climax came closer. He speeded his strokes, feeling Archer tremble. Suddenly he threw back his head and Diarmuid felt the walls around his cock tighten, sharply, caressing his cock and making him gasp. The member in his hand pulsed before suddenly erupting, semen coating his hand and splashing Archer’s abdomen and chest.

“Shirou!” Diarmuid breathed the other man’s name before climaxing inside him. The pleasure was nearly overwhelming and Diarmuid was left gasping and shaking, barely managing to hold Archer up. Archer clung to his shoulders and their foreheads rested together for a moment before he dropped his legs, taking his own weight. Diarmuid didn’t pull away, though. Instead he smiled into Archer’s face and gathered up a bit of the white fluid from the other man’s chest. Then he sucked it off his fingers, as slow and sensual as he could. The look on Archer’s face, blank shock combined with lust, was perfect.

“Do you want more?” Archer asked, sounding breathless. Diarmuid kissed him, deeply and passionately.

“If you do,” he breathed in Shirou’s ear and the other man shuddered. Diarmuid pulled away and out of Archer’s body, meeting his eyes. Archer looked dazed, his honey-brown eyes hazed with lust. “Have I told you your eyes are beautiful?” Diarmuid suddenly said, gently cupping Archer’s cheek. “They are like warm honey.” And it entranced him. Archer smiled before pulling him into a deep and passionate kiss.

“Yours are beautiful too, like polished wood,” Archer said and Diarmuid breathed his scent for a moment before kissing him again. God, was he getting erect again? Yes, there was some activity going on down there.

Archer didn’t wait for him to act, though. Warm hands grasped his arms and pushed him to the bed, pressing him down onto the blankets. Diarmuid went with the motion, fairly sure he knew what Archer intended. Archer was on top of him then, kissing him passionately and Diarmuid returned it passion for passion. Then Archer pulled back and smiled at him before – what?

“Ah – Shirou…” Diarmuid gasped, surprised as the other man sucked on his nipple. It felt shockingly good but also incredibly strange. A man’s nipples were sensitive? He’d honestly never known that. Archer sucked for a while before pausing to lick and Diarmuid gasped again at the sensation. Then he jumped a little as Archer pinched his other nipple. “H-Hey!” Archer looked up, concerned.

“Was that a bit too rough? Some people have more sensitive nipples than others,” he said and Diarmuid blinked, wetting his lips.

“Yes, it was painful,” he said honestly and Archer nodded before going to his abused nipple, gently kissing it to sooth the hurt. Diarmuid could feel his penis coming back to life. Running a hand through Archer’s hair, he gently tugged. His lover took the hint and they engaged in another deep, passionate kiss.

Diarmuid could feel Archer’s erection, rubbing warmly against his belly. Grasping the other man’s cock in his hand, Diarmuid guided them together, feeling the pleasant, oil slicked friction. The contact soon firmed and Archer’s soft groan sent more blood to his straining shaft. For a moment Diarmuid wondered if he should go into Archer’s body… but this was good, this was very good. Deciding it was more than enough, Diarmuid continued stroking them both. Archer’s face was so close, his eyes half-closed and Diarmuid noticed his white eyelashes again, shading his beautiful eyes. How did Archer manage to be so gorgeous?

Archer’s hands were resting on his chest and his lover’s eyes opened, meeting his. Then lips quirked in an impish smile and Diarmuid gasped as Archer deliberately tweaked his nipples. Oh god!

“You… bastard…” Diarmuid managed and Shirou chuckled, the warm sound curling in his ears. He almost lost track of what he was doing but Archer’s shallow thrust into his hand reminded him and Diarmuid picked up the strokes again, hearing Archer’s soft groan at the pleasure. They kissed then, exploring each other’s mouths as they gave joy to each other.

The heat between them built slowly but became very intense. Diarmuid felt Archer’s body bucking against him, the broken rhythm of his own breathing as he came close to climax. Archer’s desperate kiss was harsh and sloppy, all tongue and teeth and Diarmuid loved every moment of it. He arched off the bed as he came, his cry stifled by Archer’s mouth. Archer’s cock throbbed hard in his grip before erupting as well, their semen mingling.

Coming down from that incredibly intense moment, they just looked at each other for a moment. Feeling a little dazed, Diarmuid marveled at the way the candlelight gilded Archer’s hair and caused the sweat on his tanned skin to glisten. So exotic and deadly, just like the bow that was his title. Then Archer’s hand gently touched his face and Diarmuid saw such tenderness there before the other man kissed him. It was gentle now, gentle and loving, slow and soft.

“I think I love you,” Diarmuid said when they parted. Archer’s eyes widened for a moment before they suddenly filled with something so raw, so painful that it was hard to look at. But Diarmuid refused to look away and Archer drew a shaking breath.

“I think I love you too, and it hurts,” Archer’s voice was unsteady and Diarmuid wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding his lover close. Shirou dropped his head to Diarmuid’s shoulder and he could feel him shaking.

_I don’t want you to be alone anymore,_ Diarmuid wasn’t sure how he knew, but he could feel Archer’s loneliness. It was an ache between them, painful and unforgiving. He couldn’t truly ease it because they were fated to part. But did it have to be that way? Diarmuid said nothing but to himself, he made an oath. If he saw any way to end Shirou’s loneliness, he would take it.

He could do nothing less for the man he’d come to love.

* * *

 

“My god, this place is a fortress,” Diarmuid breathed as he beheld the castle of the Einzberns. Archer frowned as he gazed over it. “It would be a nightmare to lay siege to.” The castle was part of a cliff and to his eyes, nearly impenetrable. Well, unless one settled in to starve them out but could the wizards magic in food? That would make it truly invulnerable. Archer shook his head.

“In the future, this will no longer exists.” Say what?!? Diarmuid looked at him and Archer’s eyes were distant as he gazed over the castle. “I don’t know what happens to it but I know this cliff will be nothing but shattered stone and the Einzberns will be elsewhere.”

“I – I see.” Diarmuid considered that for a moment before deciding magic would likely be what sundered these walls. From the few descriptions he’d had, the Einzberns likely had plenty of enemies. “Well, shall we go say hello?” Archer’s soft chuckle lightened the mood and Diarmuid smiled as they went to the gates.

The guards there weren’t impressed, but no one had expected them to be.

“What business have you here?” One of them shouted as the others pointed arrows at them. Diarmuid wasn’t interested in being a pincushion so he responded as politely as he could.

“My noble lord is a powerful magus and has matters he would discuss with your master. May we be allowed entry?” Archer gazed up at them, wearing his red coat and fine clothing, every inch the lord and magus. Diarmuid could almost feel the guards considering killing them just to remove a nuisance. It was a very tense moment but then it was decided in their favor and the man shouted for someone to open the gates. Exhaling in relief, Diarmuid rode inside, Archer by his side.

Servants took their horses and Diarmuid truly hoped things went well, as he evaluated their chances of escaping the fortress. Basically zero. Even if he’d had Gae Bolg and Bae Buidhe… slightly better than zero but not good at all.

When he met the wizards, Diarmuid decided that even with his spears and swords it would be hopeless.

“What do you want from the Einzberns?” The man demanding answers seemed fraught with mystical significance, to Diarmuid’s eyes. He was tall, blonde haired and blue eyes, wearing fine garments that were very tastefully embroidered with silver. The amulet around his neck was some kind of rune? And Diarmuid thought it had real power.

“I wish to speak to the head of your family, the holder of your Mage Crest.” Archer said and Diarmuid translated. The man looked him over before raising a hand and speaking rapidly, rhyming couplets that made no sense. Archer didn’t react, though, so he assumed it wasn’t an attack.

“There. Now you may speak directly,” the man said and Archer nodded. Diarmuid blinked. A translation spell? “Why do you think you are worthy of meeting our patriarch?” A bit of a sneer there. Archer responded calmly.

“I have need of his aide to remove this,” Archer touched the collar, moving it with one finger. “And I have something of great value to offer him, something that will speed his research into how to build a truly effective homunculus.” Archer smiled and it was dry as dust. “I know of your experiments with alchemy and the lengths you will go to, to realize your dreams. My help will make many of those steps unnecessary.” There was a brief silence and Diarmuid had the distinct feeling the Einzberns had been keeping their work a secret. Archer had just revealed knowledge of things he shouldn’t know. Finally, the man gestured for a servant.

“Take them to the old study. I will speak to my father,” he said and Diarmuid breathed a bit easier. The servant bowed slightly before taking them away.

The room they were shown into was extremely pleasant. Windows, carefully designed to let in as much light as possible while not compromising the defenses, gave it some openness. Bookcases were all along the walls, utterly filled and Diarmuid looked at them covetously. He could read, all of the Fianna could read, but it was so hard to find books! They cost a fortune. This room was full of riches, albeit ones no thief would bother with.

“Do you think they would mind if I…?” Diarmuid asked and Archer glanced over the books for a moment before shaking his head.

“There’s no grimoires here, just common books for pleasure reading. I doubt they would mind,” he said and Diarmuid took that for permission. Looking through the books he wondered if he could find any in Gaelic. Likely not, but he’d adequately mastered several languages. If he could just find something good… opening books at random, he skimmed for something interesting.

Diarmuid settled on a book of poetry just as the door opened. An older man, bearded with blonde hair going grey, entered the room. Diarmuid turned as he walked up towards Archer, stopping an arm’s length away from him before carefully examining him. It was an intense scrutiny.

“An enfleshed spirit. I know of no mortal magic that can do such a thing,” he said before his gaze rested on the collar. “And a potent curse.” He frowned as he examined the collar before grunting. “I know that magic. What did you do to anger the Witch of Srranstich?”

“I tried to kill her. And I will again, if you remove this from me,” Archer said calmly and Diarmuid wondered if that was wise. They might be friends. But the wizard laughed, relieving his mind.

“A point in your favor. But what are you offering for my help? That thing is no doubt trapped,” he said and Archer nodded before responding.

“If you remove this from me I will allow you, for one day and night, to fully examine me with any magic at your disposal.” A tiny, wintery smile quirked his lips. “I think you will find examining one of Gaia’s servants will give you valuable information on how to create efficient mana cores.” Diarmuid was lost but he saw a bit of covetousness in the wizard’s face. The man frowned, rubbing his bearded chin for a moment. Then he stepped close to Archer, all his attention on the collar. Archer just stood still as a statue, as the wizard gently touched the iron band.

“Hm, dangerous, very dangerous,” the Einzbern magus muttered before going silent. Diarmuid could see him internally weighing the odds. Suddenly he came to a conclusion. “Very well, I will do it. What oath will you give me?”

“I swear on Gaia’s name that if you remove this collar from me, you will be free to examine me both physically and magically for one day and one night. The only limit I place is that you must not damage me,” Archer said firmly and Diarmuid blinked. That needed to be said? “I will also demonstrate my skills to you in any way you wish.”

“On my mage crest, I agree,” the wizard returned and Archer seemed satisfied. Diarmuid felt like they were speaking a foreign language.

For the rest of it, though, Diarmuid was firmly excluded.

“It would be boring for you and a distraction for them. And with a trapped curse, the Einzberns can’t afford the least distraction,” Archer said firmly and Diarmuid bit his lip before speaking in a low tone.

“You trust them?” He didn’t. Archer’s eyes flickered before he responded in an equally low tone.

“I trust an oath made on their mage crest. Without a seal it’s not binding but breaking those kind of oaths can cause a dangerous imbalance. No wizard would do it frivolously and he could have just refused.” …That was true. Diarmuid sighed and nodded, gripping Archer’s arm and giving him a gentle squeeze.

“Good luck.” It could go badly, the attitudes of the wizards told him that. The father was going to do the removal with his son assisting.

For a few hours, Diarmuid occupied himself with the books. Eventually, though, he could read no more and he went to find a place to practice. Soon he had sparring partners, in the form of the Einzbern’s men-at-arms. Diarmuid was able to easily defeat them all but it provided good exercise and entertainment. Eventually the servants showed him to a room and Diarmuid took supper privately, worrying quietly about Archer. Surely they’d removed the collar? Just as he was finishing the meal, though, the servant brought a note to him. Diarmuid was a touch surprised but unfurled it to see very neat writing in Gaelic.

_Diarmuid,_

_The collar has been removed. It was dangerously trapped, in several iterations, but the Einzberns managed to defuse them all. They’re examining me now and I likely won’t see you until tomorrow. Please don’t worry, it has gone very well._

_Shirou_

Diarmuid breathed easier after he read that, particularly appreciating the name at the end. The Einzberns wouldn’t have Archer’s true name. Comforted by that, he settled into bed and soon dropped off into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	8. A Hero's End

As it turned out, they stayed with the Einzberns for almost two days.

Diarmuid strongly suspected that Archer was stalling, reluctant to resume his duties and return to Ireland. Certainly, the Einzberns wanted more time, but Archer was oddly easy to convince. Diarmuid was allowed to observe now but it was as boring as watching paint dry. So he went back to the books. Perhaps he could filch one when they left?

On the second day, though, things became very interesting.

“You want me to what?” Diarmuid felt a bit of trepidation. Archer repeated his request calmly.

“We want you to spar with me. You’re the only one here who could possibly match one of Gaia’s champions.” …He could? Diarmuid reflected on it ruefully. He was just a man, a very good fighter, yes, but it was so strange to think that in the future he’d be accounted a hero. Yes, magic had happened to him but he was hardly the only Fianna who could say that! His foster-father had taken other students. What made him so special – “Diarmuid?”

“Uh? Oh sorry,” Diarmuid said, belatedly. “Just thinking. And if you wish but please, go easily on me,” he said and Archer chuckled.

“I don’t think you need that. But we need more space.” So instead of using the courtyard, they went outside the castle. Diarmuid readied himself, wondering what he’d signed up for.

It turned out to be easily the most strenuous fight of his life. Archer’s speed without the collar to hamper him was terrifying. His strength was nearly as bad, their clashes raising sparks from his sword. And yet, Diarmuid was able to hold his own, albeit coming right to the edges of his skill. And he didn’t think Archer was holding back. Narrowing his eyes, Diarmuid tried to find some kind of weakness. He didn’t think he could win but damned if he wouldn’t try.

One of Archer’s swords shattered under a particularly hard blow and internally, Diarmuid exulted. But then Archer flexed his hand and to his utter dismay, it was filled with gleaming steel again. _Creation magic._ His mind abruptly flashed back to the old woman in the wine shop. Archer couldn’t be disarmed, he just made more blades.

In the end, Diarmuid lost. How could he not? He was a mortal man facing a ghost, an ancient warrior so great he’d been made immortal by the World. But he was pleased to see Archer breathing heavily, sweat on his brow as he knelt on him, a knee in his chest and a blade at his throat.

“I yield. Damn but that’s incredible,” Diarmuid said admiringly and Archer smiled down at him.

“You’re incredible. For a human that was truly impressive,” Archer complimented him before moving off. Diarmuid pulled himself up, looking for his sword. Ah, there it was! Grabbing it he blinked as he heard some applause.

“Very impressive! You both put out a great deal of energy,” the old man said and Diarmuid blinked. Both? “Have you been trained in any magic?” That question was for him and Diarmuid blinked again.

“Um, no,” he said, feeling faintly bewildered. Why would the wizard think so? The Einzbern magus didn’t seem to notice his confusion.

“You should look into that, if you can. You have great potential.” …to be a wizard? Diarmuid had never considered that in his life! But then, the use of the runes seemed to be a dying art. There was no Scathach, no Cu Chulainn to teach him. Hmm, could he learn to use foreign magic? Ah, there was no time! “Now, the bow?” The wizard reminded Archer, who nodded.

Diarmuid was treated to the sight of Archer’s bow in action. It simply appeared in his hands and Archer also summoned a sword? Which then changed into a red arrow. The arrow was fitted to the bow and Archer aimed at a large rock before letting loose. The rock exploded under the impact, shards of stone flying through the air. Then Archer demonstrated a final power, holding out a single hand and saying odd words. Rho Aias? What came into being was an odd shield of light, layered and looking like a flower. Diarmuid thought it was shockingly pretty for something so powerful.

“Impressive. I think, working together, my son and I could break a few layers. But no more than that,” the old wizard said after a bit of examination. “And you are damaged when the petals break?” Ah, that was why they weren’t having fun trying it. Archer nodded, letting the shield fade.

“Yes. I’ve only had one person reach the final petal, though, and he didn’t get past that.” Archer paused before shaking his head. “I was lucky, he quit the field at that point. I was too badly hurt to defend myself.” Diarmuid swallowed at the thought, wondering who had managed that. “Well, while I have enjoyed your hospitality, I really must go.” Archer rubbed his forehead with a grimace. “The World is pressing on me,” he said and there was a shadow of pain in his eyes. Diarmuid reached out to gently grip his shoulder, giving Archer a comforting squeeze.

Archer reached up and grasped his wrist. Diarmuid was sure he only meant it as a gesture. But as their hands met a blue light flared. It built and built and Diarmuid was utterly blinded by it. Then it abruptly cut off and Diarmuid stumbled before looking around, eyes wide.

“Fionn’s great hall,” he whispered, seeing the familiar surroundings. Archer let go of his wrist and Diarmuid let go of his shoulder, rubbing his hand. It felt a bit numb. “It’s all the same.” The tapestries, the tables and benches. How many times had he drunk beer here? About a million times.

“Yes, it is,” Archer’s tone was so strange it immediately caught Diarmuid’s attention. Looking at him, he saw Archer was staring at one of the tapestries, his face pale beneath his tan. “Is it the same time – no. No, the children are dead,” he muttered and Diarmuid winced as Archer reached up to rub his neck, the spot the collar had been. “Are there more?” Oh god!

“If there are we’ll save them,” he pledged but Archer just shook his head. Then he set off purposefully. Heading for the dungeons?

Yes, that was where they were going. They encountered no one on their way, just cold passages of stone. Diarmuid wrinkled his nose as they began walking down the stairs. The smell was as foul as Archer had said, with an undertone of rot. What was going on down here? The dungeons never smelled nice but it was important to keep them clean.

What was going on, was the dungeons had been converted to the witch’s private lair. The whole area had been expanded to suit her and Diarmuid wondered how it had been done. Magic? Although plenty of the original structure had been kept. The cages and torture implements, the benches and other contraptions, were still ready to be used. His gorge rose as Diarmuid realized they HAD been used, and quite recently. Blood was still drying on them and Archer suddenly moved, going to – oh. Had that been a person? Diarmuid watched his back as Archer checked for a pulse before shaking his head.

“At least there are no captives this time. But she has been feeding well,” Archer murmured and Diarmuid swallowed at the thought. “I think she’s further in. If we’re lucky, we can surprise her.” Right then.

Moving past that room, they found the Witch. She was chopping something on a bench, her expression absorbed as she consulted a book. For a moment, Diarmuid’s heart squeezed in his chest. My god she looked just like Grainne and the nearly homely task she was engaged in made it worse. Then Archer moved.

Archer very nearly had the witch. But she sensed something at the very last moment and flinched to the side. The blow that would have beheaded her caved in the table instead and Diarmuid saw pretty features contort with shock and rage.

“You…!” Then the battle was truly on. Diarmuid moved to attack but the phantasms Archer had mentioned, the shadowy knights, appeared out of the shadows. “How the… you’re dead! You’re both dead!” She’d noticed him as well. Archer’s laughter was cutting.

“Your sadism is coming back to bite you. Never count someone dead unless they expire in front of you,” Archer taunted coldly and the Witch’s face worked before she spat a word. Curses flew through the air and Archer deflected them with his blades, although one shattered beneath the impact.

Diarmuid was unable to give that any attention though. Soon he was very hard pressed, as wave after wave of enemies took him on. It seemed that the Witch could only spawn three of her dark knights at once, but she could renew them nearly effortlessly. Whenever Diarmuid defeated one, it came back, to his utter frustration. If only he’d known the runes he might have been able to stop that but he didn’t. All he could do was keep the knights busy and hope that Archer could do the rest.

It was tiring though. The battle was going on too long. Diarmuid was vaguely aware of Archer using his bow and arrows exploding against the Witch’s shields. Then the Witch tossed green, acidic fire at him and Archer having to dodge. Diarmuid had to duck and the fire actually took out one of her knights. Not that it did them much good when the thing respawned.

“What kind of nightmare…?” Diarmuid panted, aware that he could only hold out so long. Archer needed to finish this but he could see the spirit was struggling. He was trying to chant something, a spell? The Witch kept interrupting him though. Yet Archer was continuing, trying to complete his working.

Then things suddenly went bad. Diarmuid’s sword was fine steel, forged by a master smith. But the punishing it was taking today was unlike anything a sword should have to face, dark energies licking along the blade. Diarmuid wasn’t surprise when it suddenly shattered, bits of steel flying through the air. The sword he’d tried to stop went into his gut and Diarmuid grunted at the pain. He lashed out with the broken end of his sword, beheading the dark knight in front of him. Thankfully, the shadowy sword in his guts vanished but Diarmuid was painfully aware of the blood dripping over his clothing. The other two knights went in for the kill –

“Unlimited Blade Works.” Diarmuid gasped in surprise as light almost blinded him for a moment. But then everything changed. The knights in front of him seemed as confused as he felt, when the skies became dingy grey and brown, great cogwheels moving amongst the clouds. Diarmuid vaguely realized he was in a shadowed landscape, a barren wasteland, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that dozens, hundreds, thousands of swords were sticking out of it!

Ignoring everything else, Diarmuid dropped the useless stub of a sword and grabbed the nearest weapon, a great claymore. Vaguely he heard the Witch screaming as he took on her last two knights. Blades clashed again and again and Diarmuid exulted as his new sword crunched through dark armor, blowing the knights out of existence.

When they died the strange landscape seemed to vanish, melting back into the dungeons. Diarmuid stumbled, new sword still in hand as he looked around. Archer was kneeling beside the Witch’s body. Her chest had been caved in, the ribs and heart exposed. She still looked unnervingly like Grainne though, her beautiful face still in death.

Then the pain hit.

“ _Shit,_ ” Diarmuid hissed as he fell to his knees and pressed a hand to his belly. To his horror, he could feel his guts moving around. He was damned lucky they hadn’t fallen out! And this was a bad wound, the kind that usually claimed lives but only after protracted suffering. Still, he was a hero right? And Archer claimed that Throne of Heroes wanted him. It wasn’t very heroic to die of fever after wound infection, wasn’t it?

“Diarmuid?” Arms went around him and through his haze of pain he heard Archer curse. Then hands rested on him and he felt an odd tingle. “I’m no kind of healer and you’re losing too much blood. I need to get you out of here.” Archer murmured in his ear and Diarmuid nodded weakly. A shoulder went under his arm and lifted him up.

“ _Oh my god!”_ Diarmuid blinked at that exclamation and looked at the door. Knights were piling in and oh look that was Douglas. Hm, what had taken them so long? They must have been making an unholy racket. Had something stopped the knights from getting in? “ _They’ve murdered Lady Grainne!”_ …Wait, what? Diarmuid’s eyes widened as he looked around, suddenly realizing that this looked… bad. Very bad. Archer’s exhausted, half-hysterical laughter hit his ears as Diarmuid tried hopelessly to reason with them.

“No, it’s not what you – “ No one was listening. The knights descended on them and they had nothing left to resist with. Diarmuid hit the ground hard and his last sight was of a fist heading for his face.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

 

Diarmuid woke up to the feel of wet dirt under his arse, warmth on his back and harsh, heavy ropes cinched tight around his body.

For a moment he couldn’t make sense of these things. His confused mind searched for an explanation, ranging from ‘battle captive’ to ‘I’m drunk’. Then the recent past came back to him and Diarmuid groaned, shifting. Then he hissed as pain lanced through him from his belly. God that hurt!

“Diarmuid?” Oh thank god Archer was alive. Prying his eyes open, Diarmuid saw the sun was just rising. “You’re awake?”

“Yes,” he managed to say, feeling exhausted by the effort. His mouth tasted foul, like old blood. Oh shit had he been coughing up a bit? Quite likely. “How are you?” There was a brief pause before Archer spoke.

“Fine at the moment. Unfortunately, they’re planning to burn us at the stake.” …Was. He. Serious. “I’ve been burned to death before. It wasn’t the worst I had, but it was close. If you’re dying you might want to hurry up.” Gallows humor, my god was this actually happening? “They seem to think you came back and murdered Grainne out of jealousy.”

“That makes no fucking sense!” Diarmuid wheezed, glancing down at himself. From the amount of blood he really might die before they could burn him. He felt Archer’s shrug through the ropes. They were bound together, back to back. Oh, and there were hobbles on their ankles, amazing. “Can you do anything?”

“No. I’m completely exhausted and there’s no time to recover,” Archer sounded calmly accepting. Well, that was Archer for you, composed in the very worst of circumstances. “They also took care to tie my hands shut. I shouldn’t have summoned my swords when I was trying to save us.”

“Ah.” They’d seen empty hands fill with steel. Damn. “What kind of an end for a hero is this?” Diarmuid asked the World, feeling drunk on blood loss. Archer’s chuckle was very dry.

“A traditional one. All heroes come to bad ends. Perhaps they’ll figure out Grainne’s nature after we’re dead.” …How bloody amazing. Unable to stop himself, Diarmuid laughed. Archer managed to turn his head, nearly resting it against his shoulder for a moment. “I’m so sorry I brought you to this.”

“Don’t be. I’m honored to die by your side,” Diarmuid said and meant every word. They fell silent then and none of the knights seemed inclined to talk to them. It was likely just as well. What would they say?

Fionn did come to berate him but Diarmuid had trouble focusing on the words, mostly hearing the emotion behind them. Rage and anguish and pain and while lord Fionn didn’t cry, Diarmuid had the feeling he’d already done so in private. Had he truly loved Grainne or had the Witch just bespelled him? They’d never know.

“I’m sorry this has caused you pain but I did it for all of Ireland,” Diarmuid said tiredly when the rant was over. “She was a monster wearing Grainne’s face.” Surely Archer had said all this.

“Enough with your lies!” Yes, he had. Diarmuid resigned himself as the ropes were cut and the two of them were dragged to the stake. Nicely set up with plenty of firewood, how lovely. This wasn’t the traditional method of killing murderers but Fionn was rather outraged. Hanging was apparently too good for them. They were tied to the stake together, the solid wood between them but their arms almost overlapping. Despite the hideous situation Diarmuid found comfort in that.

“Diarmuid, if you’re not going to have the decency to die you should at least try to pass out,” Archer’s calm tones made him laugh again, although it quickly turned to coughing.

“I’m… trying…” His head was spinning, he really was trying, he was!

“Try harder.” Oh god if the fire didn’t kill him Archer’s sense of humor would do the job. Then they were lighting the fires, though, and that wasn’t the least bit funny at all.

It was painful, as painful as Diarmuid could have imagined. The fires started on his right side and licked at his leg there, setting his clothing on fire and dancing up his body. The fire was far from clean though. No, the wood was wet and even as the heat licked at his flesh the clouds of smoke lodged in his throat, choking him and stealing his breath. They clouded his vision as well, until he could see nothing but darkness. Diarmuid felt his head whirling, the intense heat on the right side of his body. He’d pass out soon, surely he would. He wanted to… pass out…

But as he fought for breath, a blue light seemed to fill his vision. It slowly formed into something strange and beautiful, like a rune but infinitely more complex. Vaguely aware that he was probably on the verge of death and hallucinating, Diarmuid marveled at the beauty. He’d never seen something so amazing.

_What is your desire?_ What an easy question.

_I want to be with Archer. I want to fight by his side, forever. I want to follow him everywhere and ease his pain. I want him to not be alone anymore,_ Diarmuid thought, vaguely aware that he was murmuring the words.

_What would you give for this desire to become real?_ Another easy question.

_Anything._ That desire contained everything he wanted for the future. If he got that, he’d give his heart, soul, everything he was. For a moment, as he thought that, Diarmuid felt a strange sense of finality. A prayer heard and answered.

Then the blue vanished and the smoke filled his vision. The heat and the suffocation was all too much.

Feeling rather grateful, Diarmuid finally passed out.


	9. Death is not the End

Diarmuid awoke to an alien landscape.

For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream. Killing the Witch, being blamed for Grainne’s death, choking to death even as he burned. Surely it had all been an incredibly odd dream.

But he recognized the land around him. It was the wasteland, the one he’d seen briefly when he and Archer finished the Witch. Tilting his head back, Diarmuid examined the sky. Great clockwork wheels, moving slowly yet smoothly against each other. There was a sun behind there, somewhere, but the clouds seemed full of dust and cast a pallid haze. Pushing himself to his feet, he found the ground was cracked stone. It left grit on his palms.

The landscape itself looked like a desert. It was littered with swords, axes, spears and other things, stuck into the landscape. There were also tiny ruins that Diarmuid tentatively decided were gravestones. He could be wrong about that, they were nothing like the markers of his homeland. Diarmuid began to move, walking slowly through the lost wasteland. It was hot, very hot, and there was an odd scent in his nose. Coal and oil and hot steel, it was a familiar smell.

“This place is like a forge,” Diarmuid said aloud, glancing over the blades as he walked. Then he suddenly stiffened. That one looked familiar. Changing his path, he walked over to the sword and pulled it out of the ground. “…Ah.” It was definitely the sword he’d used to kill the knights. The heft and feel of it was identical. “You are a very fine sword, aren’t you,” Diarmuid murmured, noticing the blade was stained with something. It looked a bit like blood but when he tried to rub it, the stain wouldn’t come off.

Holding the sword, though, suddenly reminded him of what was missing. Archer, where was Archer? Resting the sword blade on his shoulder he began to search purposefully. Archer had to be in here somewhere.

It took some time for Diarmuid to find Archer. He was standing on a hill, his face serene as he gazed into the distance. He looked like the statue of a foreign hero, so stoic and graceful and _he was pointing a sword at his own chest!_

“ARCHER STOP!” Diarmuid dropped the claymore and ran, heedless of the swords he was kicking over in his haste to reach his lover. Archer’s eyes flared wide and he dropped the sword just before Diarmuid would have yanked it from his hands. Instead, Diarmuid hugged him, so hard it would have left a mortal man breathless. “What the hell are you doing?!? Stop being a damned idiot!” Diarmuid said sharply as Archer shook his head. Hands pushed on his chest and Diarmuid obligingly let go.

“What are you doing here? I don’t understand. You’re a Heroic Spirit, you can’t share my Reality Marble, not even another Counter-Guardian could. How can you be here?” Archer sounded completely lost, utterly confused. The pupils of his eyes were tiny pinpoints and Diarmuid could see how distressed he was. “Have I finally lost my mind?”

“…” Diarmuid had no idea what Archer was talking about and decided he didn’t much care. He knew what was what and that was all that mattered. “I’m going to be with you forever, fighting by your side, holding you when you need to be held and loving you with all my heart.” Honey brown eyes widened as Diarmuid caught Archer’s hands. “This is my eternity. I gave my oath.” He gently squeezed Archer’s hands but it didn’t comfort the other man. No, to the contrary, Archer was starting to look horrified.

“…No. Oh god no why didn’t I see?” Archer breathed and Diarmuid blinked. Why was he upset? They’d be together forever. “The World didn’t want a Heroic Spirit, it wanted a new Counter Guardian. There can be two spirits that share the same name, it’s happened before and oh god it involved alternate timelines!” Archer was locked in some kind of horrible internal vision, his gaze distant and his expression empty yet full of terrible feeling. “I thought the World just wanted to set things right so you would join the main iteration but I was wrong, that was meaningless. How could you make a deal like that?!?” Eyes suddenly focused on him and Diarmuid was taken aback by Archer’s rage. “How could you do something so stupid?”

“Because I love you,” Diarmuid said simply and Archer’s breathing stuttered in something that was perilously close to a sob. Diarmuid hugged Archer again, feeling it as the other man shuddered against him. “You don’t have to be alone here anymore,” he murmured, certain of it to the depths of his soul. “I’m going to follow you around forever. You can’t get rid of me so get used to it.”

“You’re an idiot,” Archer’s voice was heavy with unshed tears and Diarmuid squeezed him harshly. They remained together for a long moment, until Diarmuid felt Archer’s breathing even, the tremors in his body ease. Then the other man pulled away, regarding him with calm composure. “Please tell me you at least put some conditions on your contract.” Diarmuid hesitated, unsure what he meant. “You didn’t, did you.”

“Uh, well, no.” Was he supposed to? “I was kind of choking to death at the time and I thought I was hallucinating anyway.” Diarmuid defended himself and Archer chuckled, a small, sad sound. “Did you do so much better?” Since Diarmuid’s whole wish was to follow Archer everywhere, any contract he’d made would automatically effect Diarmuid. Archer shook his head.

“Not really. I just ultimately get to be a Heroic Spirit,” Archer said before suddenly stopping, his white brows knitting together. “If I’m a Heroic Spirit and you’re not… shit,” he muttered and Diarmuid blinked. “Is this the World’s way of keeping me past my contract?” What? Archer rubbed his forehead for a moment before suddenly changing the subject. “Did you notice you’re scarred?”

“Huh? Of course I… oh.” Diarmuid had just raised a hand to touch the scar on his cheek and found something much, much larger. “Do you have a mirror?” Archer concentrated on his hands for a moment before handing over a newly-created hand mirror. Diarmuid examined himself thoughtfully.

It wasn’t horrifically ugly but it wasn’t pretty either. The scar was on the right side of his face and his poor ear had gotten the worst of it. It looked partly melted, a sad little blob. The burn covered the area beneath his ear – his hair wasn’t affected, thankfully – and also the right side of his neck. The scar also ventured across his cheek and jaw, but the pattern there was lacy and almost ornamental. It didn’t touch his nose or mouth, something Diarmuid was thankful for.

“How far does it go?” Suddenly intrigued, Diarmuid handed back the mirror and began to disrobe. As he’d thought, the scar covered more than his face. His right leg was absolutely covered in burn scars and Diarmuid was unpleasantly reminded of how the fire had gone there first. Then the scar climbed over his chest, heavy on the right but then forming more of those lacy patterns, the places the flames had licked. His right arm was mostly spared but his shoulder had gotten hit badly. Diarmuid ran a hand over the healed skin and found it felt odd, almost waxy. “…Huh.” Quickly pulling out his underthings to check, he confirmed that his cock was unaffected.

“You had to check your cock?” Archer’s dry tone made him blush. “I could have done that for you.”

“Hey now!” Diarmuid scowled but really, he was glad that Archer seemed to be getting his spirits back up. “I don’t look too bad, do I?” He didn’t think so. Archer shook his head.

“No, it looks fine really. The ear is a bit off-putting but not bad. It’s very distinctive though, you’ll always be rather obvious.” …Pth.

“Like you’re one to talk about that,” Diarmuid jibed and Archer chuckled softly, his honey brown eyes warming. “Archer… I know this isn’t what you expected. But for yourself, are you glad I’m here?” Diarmuid asked and anguish flitted briefly through honey brown eyes.

“I… yes.” Archer whispered and Diarmuid pulled him into a gentle, passionate kiss. When they parted, Archer spoke in his ear. “I just hope you don’t come to regret it. Counter Guardians are not allowed the release of insanity.” …That sounded grim but somehow, Diarmuid wasn’t worried at all.

“Archer, why are we still talking when we could be doing other things with our mouths?” This seemed very stupid. Archer’s soft chuckle hit his libido hard and Diarmuid kissed the other man passionately. Ah, he tasted so good! Sliding a hand over the red coat, he helped Archer take it off. Their other clothes soon went by the wayside but the coat found a use as a blanket, Archer reclining on it as Diarmuid paused to take him in. That beautifully tanned, naked body, all long lean muscles and dead white hair, the heat in golden brown eyes…

Diarmuid couldn’t wait and didn’t want to. He settled on Archer, kissing him deeply as tanned arms and legs went around him. Archer’s hand stroked his face, tracing the lines of the scar and Diarmuid found they were tingly and a bit ticklish. Turning his head, he caught Archer’s finger in his mouth and teasingly sucked on the digit. The look on Archer’s face, the surprise and lust, was wonderful.

“Don’t suppose we have any oil here?” Diarmuid said as he let go of Archer’s finger. Archer smiled before holding out a hand. A jar of oil appeared, as he willed it.

“Oil is something my world isn’t lacking,” he said wryly and Diarmuid wondered what that meant. He didn’t care though, coating his fingers in it and using it to gently prepare Archer. “It’s usually not for this though… uh…” Diarmuid watched Archer’s face as he coated his insides with the oil. The way his eyelids fluttered, his white lashes shading his honey brown eyes, sent a wave of desire through him.

Diarmuid took it slowly, though, intent on teasing Archer. He found that special spot inside him and gently stroked it, even as he teasingly ran a hand over Archer’s cock. Not a lot of friction, just enough to torment. Archer hissed and tried to thrust against his hand, but Diarmuid caught his hip and held him still. Eyes opened and fixed on him, frustrated and full of lust. Taking the hint, Diarmuid left off his tormenting and pulled Archer’s hips up before sliding into his waiting body.

It was as wonderful as the very first time they made love. Archer’s body gripped him in all the right ways, tight and hot and grasping. Archer’s voice was in his ear, murmuring breathy encouragements as arms and legs held him tight. Diarmuid took the invitation and began to take Archer, slowly but firmly.

“Oh god Diarmuid, please, more…” Archer’s voice, heavy with pleasure, hit Diarmuid hard. He speeded his thrusts, reaching between them to stroke Archer’s cock. “Ah…!” God, he was so beautiful like this!

“Shirou, you are… incredible…” Diarmuid savored the sound of Archer’s true name, the special thing he had of him. Sweat was beading on that tanned skin and he licked it away, making Archer gasp.

“So are… you… self-sacrificing… fool…” Diarmuid couldn’t help but laugh even as he took Archer more firmly. Self-sacrificing? Spending all eternity with Archer was not any kind of sacrifice, it was a dream come true! The only one who didn’t know that was Archer.

As they made love, the light seemed to change, but Diarmuid ignored it, intent on his beloved Archer. They kissed, deeply and passionately, unaware of anything but each other. Archer’s hand caught his hair, deepening the kiss and Diarmuid savored it. Could anything be sweeter than the taste of his lover? Those grasping walls seemed to tighten around him and Diarmuid gasped into Archer’s mouth. Was he coming close? Diarmuid speeded the strokes of his hand and felt Archer moan into his mouth.

The end came suddenly, the pleasure between them cresting. Diarmuid vaguely heard his own voice, Archer’s true name on his lips and Archer’s beautiful cry. They climaxed together and Diarmuid shuddered in pure pleasure as Archer’s body seemed to tighten, milking him for his seed. Then the moment passed and they lay together, gasping and quivering with the aftershocks.

“Diarmuid,” Archer’s hand gently stroked his cheek again, tracing the scars. Diarmuid looked into heavy lidded eyes, seeing the exhaustion and satisfaction on his lover’s face. “I still wish you hadn’t done this but I’m thankful that you did.” Diarmuid smiled and kissed him, a quick, loving kiss.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured and Archer chuckled, that beautiful, dry little sound he so loved. “Mmm…” Diarmuid gently pulled away before setting down. As he did, though, he noticed something a bit odd. “The skies blue.” That sounded idiotic but before they’d made love, the sky had been dingy grey and orange. Now it was blue and the clouds were fluffy white. It was fading though. Diarmuid could see it changing about the edges, fading back to the grey and orange. What did that mean?

“It’s the sex, don’t worry about it,” Archer said sleepily and Diarmuid decided not to care. He settled in to enjoy the warmth of his lover, ignoring the sky as it gradually seeped back to dull, smoky tones. As it did though, Diarmuid made a private vow.

He’d turn Archer’s skies blue as much as he could.

_~FIN~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end of the main story. However, I have many snippets written of Archer and Diarmuid's adventures together as Counter-Guardians. Please let me know if you have any ideas of what they can do together! Reviews make me happy. :)


	10. Character Profile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a character profile for Counter-Guardian Diarmuid! Any inconsistencies with the Fate universe are entirely my fault. :)

Diarmuid of the Scar, Counter-Guardian

Appearance: Diarmuid of the Scar is identical to Heroic Spirit Diarmuid ua Duibhne except for the scar. Encompassing the right side of his neck, his right ear and forming patterns on his cheek, the scar is not an ugly one but it is very distinctive. It also looks like it was very painful, when it was fresh. Beneath his clothing the scar is even more extensive, forming patterns on his right arm, right chest and almost covering his right leg. In terms of clothing, Diarmuid prefers to wear a dark grey cloak, stained with unmentionable fluids and a dark, faceless mask. The mask is the same as the ones used by the men pursuing him, when he fled with Grainne. Beneath the cloak he wears well beaten but serviceable armor as Saber, protective leathers as Lancer.

As Caster, Diarmuid’s appearance changes dramatically. His scar is colored with grey dappled with silver, and the color is part of his skin. It makes the lacey patterns beautiful. He wears brown trousers embossed with a grey pattern that is actually Earth runes. His vest matches and he wears no shirt, to better display the scars on his chest.

Personality: Diarmuid is a good hearted, good natured man. His personality tends to be a sunny one, looking on the bright side of life and he is generally pleasant to be around.

In many ways, however, he differs heavily from the Heroic Spirit Diarmuid ua Duibhne. Diarmuid of the Scar gave up his knighthood and honor when he deserted from knights of Fianna, faking his death and leaving to become a nameless hire-sword. That defection, coupled with the hideously unfair nature of his death, have caused him to regard knightly codes and honor with amused disdain. He recognizes the importance other people place on those codes, but does not himself and will gladly use their ideals against them. If he had been the one summoned by Kayneth, it’s likely the partnership would have been much smoother.

One way he is similar to the Heroic Spirit is in being rather submissive, but to Archer. Archer has his full devotion and loyalty and while Diarmuid often dominates in private, in public he tends to defer to Archer’s judgement. He will always offer input but rarely insists on a course, even if he believes that Archer is wrong. When partnered with a Master, this dynamic also tends to emerge.

Diarmuid of the Scar has a dark side, which he is not afraid to explore. He is capable of inflicting immense pain with a smile. Archer has said that the fires that killed him burned away a portion of his humanity.

Possible Classes: Saber, Lancer and Caster.

As Saber, Diarmuid is a tank. He has phenomenal endurance, equal to that of the greatest Servants. His strength is not far behind and his agility is very good. Luck is low-average and mana is low. His resistance to magic is high.

As Lancer, Diarmuid’s agility becomes his primary stat and is quite high. Strength is good, endurance is only average. Luck is low but mana jumps into good. As Lancer, Diarmuid is prone to use the runes more extensively. His resistance to magic is medium.

As Caster, Diarmuid’s mana becomes his primary stat and is very high. His agility is good, his strength is low, endurance is average. Luck jumps to high. As Caster, Diarmuid can use the Earth runes on his clothing to create spot shields on his arms and legs, engaging in hand to hand combat against any weapon. Scathach taught him to do this and he is a master at this style of combat. He also employs the runes extensively. His resistance to magic is high.

Weapons:

Diarmuid does not possess magical weapons. All of his noble phantasms and abilities are based in his nature, skill with runes and history. However, there are two weapons he habitually employs and they do have histories and abilities, albeit meaningless ones.

The Sword that Cannot be Cleaned: Said to be owned by the Nameless Soldier, an archtype or wraith, the Sword that Cannot be Cleaned is a Scottish claymore. It is an extremely fine weapon and also quite plain. The only noteworthy thing about it is the stains on the blade, which cannot be removed. That is its only special property. Diarmuid uses the sword as Saber.

Vase Killer: Vase Killer is a halberd was used both in battle and as an executioner’s tool. It changed hands many times and never settled on a single master, until Diarmuid randomly selected it from Archer’s collection of blades. If an item read were done on it, the reader would sense that it has spilled endless rivers of blood. Aside from being an extremely fine tool for murder, it has no special properties. Diarmuid uses it as Lancer.

Vase Killer earned its nickname after Diarmuid accidentally killed three vases with it in one day.

Skills and Noble Phantasms:

Exceptional Swordsman: Diarmuid’s skill with his sword stands with other great Sabers, such as Arturia.

Exceptional Spearman: Diarmuid’s skill with his halberd would allow him to fight Cu Chulainn on even footing.

Runes: Diarmuid can use the runes in a manner identical to his teachers, Cu Chulainn and Scathach. He cannot use ice or light runes and is particularly strong with fire and shadow. As Caster he can employ all runes, except for ice and light, depending on the situation. As Lancer and Saber he normally confines himself to fire and shadow.

Empathic connection: Diarmuid is deeply connected to Archer and can share thoughts with him at any time. Perhaps as a consequence of that, or due to his natural personality and training with the runes, Diarmuid has become a master at empathic connection. He can easily read emotions in those around him and given time and perseverance, he can usually convince another person to allow him into their mind. He does this via a kind of seduction, by convincing the person he genuinely, truly cares about them. Because of the nature of empathy it’s not really a lie, either. Diarmuid prefers to use this power as little as possible except with Archer.

Shield of Absolute Darkness: His first noble phantasm, this power is an advanced form of his shadow runes. The shield manifests as a sphere of darkness, protecting whatever lies within the sphere. Its nature is incredible flexibility. While the shield itself is strong, the true strength of it is its ability to flex, deflecting attacks and allowing the energy to be expended harmlessly. Theoretically, it is possible to hit the shield so squarely that this cannot happen. In actually, that is an insanely difficult task.

However, the Shield does have a weakness and that is compression. If afflicted on all sides by a force of great strength it will quickly collapse. Caster is the only one likely to be able to take advantage of this weakness.

Fire of the Heart: Diarmuid’s greatest noble phantasm is a manifestation of the fires that killed him. His cloak will catch fire and flames will dance in his hair when it is summoned. When the summoning couplet is finished, he can unleash an extremely powerful burst of fire onto his target. The fire runes are invoked when he does this and glow on his blade or halberd. As Caster, they swirl around him in the flames.

Combination Skills:

As a pair, Diarmuid and Archer are deeply connected. It is possible for them to combine their abilities.

Shadowed Rho Aias: Rho Aias is normally seven petals of pure light. However, it can be combined with the Shield of Absolute Darkness. When it is the petals turn black around the edges and become flexible, shedding damage in a way similar to the Shield. The main segment of Rho Aias is as strong as normal. Depending on the nature of the attack this is either neutral or an advantage. The true advantage to this, however, is that when each petal of Rho Aias breaks Archer normally sustains damage. When combined with the Shield, Diarmuid takes half the damage for him. This can mean the difference between life and death when Emiya is using the Assassin class.

Malignant Miasma: Assassin’s knowledge and ability with poisons can be combined with Diarmuid’s shadow runes into a cool mist of pure death. Despite the name, the mist itself is mindless but the way it floats gives it the appearance of life. It is extremely lethal to humans and dangerous even to Servants. However, when unleashed it moves with the wind. It is critical to understand how the mist will move to avoid killing allies, including Emiya and Diarmuid. The mist also has a certain lifespan when unleashed and cannot be dispelled, making knowledge of the terrain and wind critical.

Unlimited Blade Works: Within Archer’s Reality Marble it is possible for Archer to trace Gae Buidhe and Gae Bolg for Diarmuid to use. Because he is the original owner, the weapons will achieve full power for him. It is also possible for Diarmuid to permit Archer to use them and in giving permission, allow him to use them at full capacity. Oddly enough, Diarmuid does not prefer to do this except in extreme circumstances. He views the weapons as part of his past and prefers his claymore and halberd.

It is more likely that Diarmuid would help Archer to trace his swords, Moralltach and Beagalltach, and allow Archer to use them. Archer would find them more comfortable than Gae Buidhe and Gae Bolg.


	11. Snippet 1 - Garbage Duty

Diarmuid frowned, gazing up at the sky as he rested his halberd over his shoulder.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” he said casually. Archer was utterly silent, by his side. Diarmuid glanced at him, suddenly remembering what the maiden had called him. A clockwork doll. He felt like it today, he really did, with his perfectly calm face and distant gaze. “Archer?” A white-haired head shifted and honey-brown eyes focused on him.

“You understand what we’re doing here,” Archer said, his voice void of expression. Diarmuid nodded.

“Kill everyone,” Diarmuid said, hefting his halberd and examining it for a moment. A plain thing of simple steel, it had a beautiful balance and weight. Archer said it was very high carbon steel and extremely durable, for a weapon that had no magic. “We ought to get to it. They’re not going to kill themselves.” Diarmuid meant that as a joke but Archer just brushed past him, starting down the hill. “…” Wondering what Archer’s problem was – this was the garbage duties he was used to, wasn’t it? – Diarmuid followed.

What occurred was a massacre. Diarmuid took no particular pleasure in exterminating the inhabitants of this small town – why? He honestly wasn’t sure but there had to be a reason – and the screams were appalling. No one tried to flee the town, interestingly enough. Diarmuid knew he would have and that made him extremely suspicious. They even had vehicles, this was modern era, but not a one was used. Why?

Diarmuid would never find out. He simply killed them, without mercy and without feeling. Vaguely, he was aware they were humans but somehow they didn’t register that way to him. They were just targets, squeaking, flailing targets that he was required to knock down.

Some did try to hide and he and Archer had to pry them out. Diarmuid was able to close his eyes and simply brush out with his mind, sensing the terror and panicked thoughts. That was his empathy and vaguely Diarmuid was aware sensing such fear should have pained him – it would have been utterly agonizing if he’d sensed Archer like this – but it didn’t. Diarmuid simply felt nothing.

So Diarmuid led Archer right to them and Archer dealt with the hiding places using his detonating arrows. Diarmuid wistfully wished he had a grasp of the runes. A good fire run would have been even better than Archer’s broken phantasms.

When they were done, Diarmuid paused to clean off his halberd. It was a blood-soaked mess. His cloak had a few more bloodstains but Diarmuid didn’t much mind. It added character.

“I think that’s it?” Diarmuid brushed his senses out again but felt nothing. And he felt a sense of completion. Archer was still silent and Diarmuid looked at him to find he was staring away, his posture one of waiting. Diarmuid hesitantly tried to reach through their connection, touch his thoughts, but Archer’s defenses were completely up. Frowning, he concentrated hard. _Archer?_ Archer blinked and focused on him.

“Yes, we’re done.” His voice was empty and chill. Diarmuid was beginning to feel alarmed.

“Archer, what’s wrong?” he asked and Archer stared at him, a bit of expression finally getting through his mask. Although being looked at like he was a moron wasn’t the best.

“What do you _think_ is wrong?” Archer’s tone was cold and cutting. Diarmuid sat back on his heels, regarding his best friend and lover with deep concern.

“I think what’s wrong is we just massacred a town. Yet, I’m not sure why,” Diarmuid said cautiously and saw Archer’s lips tighten before he looked away. “This is what you do all the time, you told me so. What’s the problem?” There was a long pause before Archer responded.

“I never wanted you to see me this way,” Archer said and Diarmuid couldn’t stand it. He dropped the halberd and moved, taking Archer into a tight hug.

“Archer, I don’t think less of you, I’d never think less of you,” Diarmuid murmured in his ear as Archer slowly began to thaw. “If this still bothers you, you have great humanity.” …Something Diarmuid was acutely aware that he was lacking. And it was strange because he was sure it hadn’t been like this before he’d died. What had changed? But Archer was what mattered now. Arms slowly went around him, holding Diarmuid back and Archer’s head rested on his shoulder for a moment.

“Thank you,” Archer murmured before letting go, and Diarmuid followed his lead, letting go. Then he bent over and picked up his halberd, resting it comfortably on his shoulder again. For a moment, Diarmuid was tempted to leave it at that. But Archer would notice sooner or later. In fact, he probably already had, he’d just been too caught up in his own misery to really think about it.

“Will you judge me if I tell you it doesn’t bother me a bit?” Diarmuid said and Archer stared at him, faintly puzzled. “It’s like… like a switch in my brain. One moment they were people and the next they weren’t. Just things, objects I had to break.” Diarmuid scanned Archer’s face, looking for any sign of how he felt, and instinctively employed his empathy. But all he saw and felt was surprise. “I don’t know why it’s like this for me.” And it seemed wrong, even to him, yet… it was likely good for his mental health. Archer blinked a few times before drawing a breath.

“Please tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” Archer said.

“No,” Diarmuid immediately denied it and his lover looked a touch relieved. “There’s no enjoyment there. It was just something that needed doing, is all.” Turning, Diarmuid looked back at the town. There were smoke trails rising now. “I just don’t regret it or feel much of anything really.” It was rather disturbing. A hand gently rested on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“It’s like the fires that killed you claimed a portion of your humanity,” Archer said quietly and Diarmuid blinked. That felt… true. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably for the best.”

“Yes.” As if sensing they were done, and it likely did, blue light surrounded them. The next moment, they were both standing in a landscape of broken dirt and swords.

Put away until the World needed them again.


	12. Training Sessions

Diarmuid lay on the rocky ground, hands behind his head as he whistled softly. Clockwork wheels moved slowly above him and Diarmuid found them relaxing, almost meditative.

He was waiting for Archer to get back. Normally, they left the bubble together, serving the World as a pair. Once in a while, though, they got pulled out separately. However, they’d both quickly realized that only happened for training sessions. The World was honoring Diarmuid’s bargain and they only fought seriously together.

Due to the time distortion, Diarmuid knew Archer might spend a great deal of time out there while almost no time passed for him. So he waited patiently, confident that Archer would be back soon.

Sure enough, he reappeared in a few sparkling motes. Diarmuid was mildly surprised by his appearance.

“What happened to you?” Diarmuid asked as Archer looked a touch bemused. He was wearing what looked like night camouflage, to Diarmuid’s eyes. His white hair was covered by a bandanna.

“I’ve just spent the month learning the fine points of lock picking, break and enter and grand larceny.” …Say what? “I believe I’m being groomed for the Assassin class.”

“Ah.” That made sense. “Assassin working with Lancer or Saber might be a brutally powerful combination,” Diarmuid observed and Archer grimaced slightly but nodded. “That bothers you?” Diarmuid didn’t think Archer was one to flinch at the Assassin’s nature, so that was odd. A bit of resignation crossed the other man’s face.

“Diarmuid, do you know how awful Assassin’s stats are?” …No? “Assassin isn’t meant to take on other Heroic Spirits and Counter Guardians. He’s meant to kill humans. I’m not looking forward to being that weak.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make up for it,” Diarmuid said easily before sitting up. “I assume you’ll be practicing?” With Archer’s creation abilities, he’d likely be making plenty of locks for himself, practicing the skills he’d been trained in until they were second nature. Archer nodded, sitting beside him. He held out a hand, concentrating. A fine lock soon materialized and Archer pulled something out of his trousers. Lock picks?

Diarmuid smiled as he watched Archer work on the lock, an expression of intense concentration on his face. He looked particularly handsome when he was focusing so hard.

Diarmuid wasn’t going to say it, but he was rather looking forward to seeing Assassin Emiya.

* * *

 

“I think I see what the World was up to when it accepted my contract,” Diarmuid said, lazily tracing circles on the skin of Archer’s thighs as they both bathed in the aftermath of sex. Honey-brown eyes opened to focus on him.

“Huh?” Archer’s questioning sound seemed to exhaust him and he closed his eyes again. Diarmuid chuckled softly before kissing him. It was a soft, gentle but very passionate kiss. That done, Diarmuid went back to his thought.

“It was because you were falling into apathy.” Archer’s eyes really opened then and he looked at Diarmuid with a small frown. “You were still doing your job and very well, but if the World had sent you to Hassan for training would you have thrown yourself into it wholeheartedly?” Diarmuid paused before shaking his head. “I doubt it.” Archer’s skills in the Archer class were as ingrained as breathing. Learning new things, though, was something else entirely. Archer’s frown deepened for a moment before he heaved a small sigh.

“You might be right. Admittedly, knowing your life will be riding on my performance does give me incentive,” Archer said quietly before grimacing. “And the vile nature of some of the skills…” Diarmuid nodded sympathetically, gently holding Archer close. Archer had come back from that training rather drained. Apparently, he’d learned all about a multitude of poisons and then spent time conducting assassinations under his mentor’s eye. Archer said the main comfort he took was that anyone targeted by Hassan in that time period was doomed anyway. “So you think the World wanted you here to give me a bit of motivation?” Archer’s tone said he didn’t like the thought.

“Mmm, yes, but don’t go all guilty over it. I made my choice and I’m glad of it,” Diarmuid said firmly. He was sure that was where Archer’s mind was going. “And having you with me makes this place a paradise.” Truly, using his sword forever in… well, alright, garbage cleanup… but with a partner he loved and respected? Warriors for all time? It suited him well.

“You’re an idiot and you have terrible taste,” Archer said affectionately and Diarmuid smiled as the other man’s eyes closed again. He watched Archer sleeping until his own eyes grew heavy.

Together, beneath a clockwork sky, the two Counter-Guardians rested from their labors.

* * *

 

The next one pulled out of the bubble was Diarmuid.

To his shock and wonder, he was taken to Ireland. And as soon as he saw the Emerald Isle again, Diarmuid thought he knew what was going on.

“The runes,” he murmured, looking around. Someone here could teach him the runes. Archer’s methods of magic simply didn’t work for him no matter how hard he tried. Yet, Archer was sure he had power inside, strength he should be able to unlock. Diarmuid thought it was tied to the ancestral magic of Ireland and if he ever wanted to add magic to his repertoire it would be with runes.

There was no clue where he was supposed to go though. Diarmuid glanced around, taking in his surroundings. He was standing on the banks of a river. It was slow and shallow, clear water running over stones. Diarmuid glanced up at the sky, seeing it was a truly lovely shade of cerulean blue. Only a few puffy white clouds wound across it and birdsong delighted his ears. A lovely day.

Dark cloak swishing about him, Diarmuid began to follow the river, reflecting that the only thing out of place here was him. With his ugly cloak, stained with unmentionable things, and dark mask, he looked like he belonged in a boggy marsh on a day threatening rain. Not walking along the banks of a river on a glorious summer day. If anyone saw him they’d likely run away.

Rather amused by the thought, Diarmuid kept walking. But then he stopped as he heard splashing and a voice raised in song. Moving carefully, he walked closer, passing a bend in the river. As he did, he saw the man doing the singing.

_Impressive,_ Diarmuid reflected, looking at the man in the water. He was a fine figure of a man, with oddly blue hair. Muscles rippled as he cupped water in his hands and doused himself, still singing. Diarmuid felt no desire – the only man he’d ever lusted for was Archer – but he did abstractly appreciate the beauty. And there was a glorious tattoo, red and almost shining, inscribed along the stranger’s body. How had he gotten that done? Magic?

Then Diarmuid spotted something on the bank that robbed away any thought of the man.

_Gae Bolg!_ The red spear was lying haphazardly on the bank of the river, as if it had been dropped there. It gleamed in the light and Diarmuid’s hands ached to hold it. Feeling as if he was in a dream, he walked to the spear and picked it up. It felt so good in his hands, such a familiar weight. Diarmuid transferred it to his right hand before drawing his halberd with his left, imagining that it was his golden spear. Ah, but the balance was all wrong, the halberd was far too –

“HEY!” Diarmuid turned sharply. The man in the water was not in it any longer. Completely naked and dripping, he was glaring sharply and Diarmuid noticed his eyes were a dark red that reminded him of dried blood. “What are you doing with my spear?!?”

“Your spear?” Diarmuid responded, hardly thinking. “This spear is mine, I –“ Oh wait. “No. I – no. I gave it up when I left Ireland,” Diarmuid said, feeling a sudden, painful squeeze on his heart. “It’s not mine anymore.” He looked down at the spear in his hand, feeling such terrible reluctance to part with it again. But he forced himself to lay it back down on the ground, as gently as if it was a child. Then he stepped away from it. “I apologize. I should not have touched what is not mine,” Diarmuid said, resting a hand on his chest and bowing slightly. The blue haired man was looking at him like he was insane. Shaking his head, he walked over and scooped up his spear, getting it safely away from Diarmuid before putting on his pants.

“You had the Gae Bolg? Who are you?” The stranger asked, getting his clothing on. “And take off that damned mask you look like a fool.” Diarmuid blushed behind his mask. On this sweet sunny day, perhaps he did.

“I am Diarmuid of the scar,” he said before pulling off the mask and pushing down his hood. The other man looked at him sharply before staring. “It was a fire,” Diarmuid said to head off questions. “As for Gae Bolg, my mentor and foster-father gave it to me when he deemed me trained.” A small smile graced the other man’s face.

“That’s familiar enough, my mentor also gave it to me. And your scar might not be pretty, but I’ve seen worse.” Yes, it really wasn’t that bad. Not truly disfiguring but very distinctive. “I am Cu Chulainn.” WHAT!!!

“Cu Chulainn?!?” Diarmuid couldn’t help it. He nearly had a heart attack. “The Hound of Ulster? The son of Lugh?! The greatest of Ireland’s hero’s?!?” The man was looking at him like he was insane again. “I – I am honored!” Diarmuid knelt, bowing his head, feeling extremely reverent. This man was a living legend in a way he could never be, whatever Archer might say. There was a sigh and Diarmuid heard the man in front of him shift.

“This is getting strange. What do you want?” Cu Chulainn asked bluntly and Diarmuid blinked. Want? “I have a feeling you want something.” …

“I… it is not what I want, but what I need. I believe I have been sent to learn the runes at your feet,” Diarmuid said with great humility. He knew he wasn’t worthy of the honor but this was what the World wanted of him, wanted of them both. Then Diarmuid’s body moved without his willing it, standing up. Suddenly panicked, Diarmuid tried to stop himself but could not and the voice that left his throat was resonate and strange, not his own at all. “This is your geas, Child of Light. Train this man in the ways of the runes or you shall be cursed by the World itself.” Abruptly, control of his body returned to him and Diarmuid almost stumbled. There was a dead silence before Cu Chulainn sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well, I’d be a fool to refuse a geas so easily satisfied. I’ll warn you, though, I’ve never tried to teach before.” Cu Chulainn didn’t seem comfortable at the thought. “But I’ll do my best. Come on…” They left the river together and Diarmuid wondered where they would be going.

Where they were going was Ulster’s castle and Diarmuid almost had palpitations as he saw things purely from legend. The castle had still existed in his time, mind, but as abandoned ruins. What had happened to it exactly? Diarmuid couldn’t recall. Wars and mayhem had stalked Ireland in the period of the Ulster cycle.

The High King was puzzled but welcomed him when Cu Chulainn introduced him as a pupil, learning the ways of the runes. Then the Hound wasted some time flirting with the serving girls and Diarmuid wondered when he’d get married. Or was he married already? If so this was unseemly. Then Diarmuid blinked at himself. He was engaged with another man, what kind of a fig did he give about seemly?

When Cu Chulainn got down to business, though, things quickly got interesting.

“Alright, the first thing I need to do is figure out what you’re strong in. Some runes will come easy to you, some less so and a few you won’t be able to use at all,” Cu Chulainn said, walking easily through the meadows. Finding a nice, flat rock covered in moss, he jumped lightly on it and took a seat. “Sit down, sit down… myself, I’m the Child of Light. Shadow runes won’t answer to my hands. Anyway, let’s start with fire, any idiot can use that.” Right then.

The basic fire rune almost exploded when Diarmuid tried to use it. As it turned out, that was a good thing though and Cu Chulainn was pleased.

“You’re strong in fire. I’ll be able to teach you all of those and once you learn control, they’ll answer easily to your hand.” Diarmuid ventured a shy smile. “Let’s try ice.”

Ice, Diarmuid couldn’t use at all. Wind barely answered. Earth was odd. The pure Earth runes didn’t answer well but the related healing ones did. Star runes came easily but weakly so they were not really a strength. Light didn’t work at all.

Then they moved to shadow and things got interesting.

“I can’t make it stop!” Diarmuid stared at the rune in front of him, petrified. Darkness was literally oozing out of it and threatening to extinguish all the light around them and that was impressive on a bright summer day. To Diarmuid the power he’d infused in the rune felt wildly out of control. But Cu Chulainn was just looking at it thoughtfully. “My lord, please!”

“Calm down you idiot,” Cu Chulainn said before sketching his own rune. Light flared and completely obliterated the shadows, almost blinding Diarmuid in the process. “You’re strong in shadow. That’s a rare thing for a human. You’re not half-fey or anything are you?”

“What? No, I’m not,” Diarmuid said, completely flustered as he rubbed his eyes with one hand. Cu Chulainn shrugged.

“I can’t use the shadow runes but my mentor made damn sure I memorized them all. You’ll definitely be strong when you have this under your belt.” Then his training began in earnest.

Learning from Cu Chulainn was exhausting but rewarding. As it turned out, he was a decent teacher, to his own surprise more than anyone’s. Time passed very pleasantly as Diarmuid moved up from the basic runes to the more advanced, moving deeply into shadow and fire.

“I love the shadow runes,” Diarmuid confessed to Cu Chulainn one day. He lifted an eyebrow interrogatively and Diarmuid did his best to explain. “They feel so calming, so cool and collected. There’s nothing willful about them, not like the fire. Using them is like… like sinking into a pool of dark, cool water.” Yes, that was it. Then Diarmuid blinked. “…They remind me of Archer.” The shadow runes seemed to fit with him somehow. Cu Chulainn’s chuckle caught his drifting attention.

“Ah, you say such strange things! I don’t find any of the runes calming but then, I can’t use shadow either. And the light and stars are very willful, prone to act up.” And in addition to fire, light and stars were what Cu Chulainn did best. “This Archer of yours sounds like a marvelous woman,” Cu Chulainn said conversationally and Diarmuid blinked.

“I… uh…” Diarmuid realized he’d made a mistake. He’d mentioned Archer to the Child of Light and no doubt his manner had convinced him they were lovers. To Cu Chulainn, that meant Archer was a woman. Diarmuid seriously considered leaving it at that but then decided it was a bad idea. “Archer is a man,” he said, composing himself. Cu Chulainn looked at him with surprised eyes. “My best friend and companion, he is a warrior worthy of his name. Archer is his title and his greatest skill.”

“Oh. From the way you spoke of him I assumed you were lovers,” Cu Chulainn and Diarmuid wasn’t sure what to say. Of course, the Hound of Ulster picked up on that. “You are, aren’t you.”

“…Yes.” Diarmuid admitted before turning the tables and asking his own question. “Does that bother you?” Cu Chulainn frowned, looking up at the sky for a moment as he thought. It was a slightly overcast day, threatening rain.

“No, doesn’t seem to. I mean I’d never do it myself but if it works for you that’s alright. Don’t mention it to anyone else here though, they wouldn’t understand.” Cu Chulainn said and Diarmuid was greatly relieved. And he was sure the men of Ulster wouldn’t understand, anymore than the knights of Fianna would have.

“I thought I’d never do it either, until I met Archer. He’s very special to me,” Diarmuid said, feeling a pang of longing. He wanted to be by Archer’s side again.

“So I see. But let’s get back to work,” Cu Chulainn said practically and Diarmuid devoted himself to the runes again.

By the time his training was done, Diarmuid was proficient with the fire and shadow runes. Everything else, he was only passable at and Cu Chulainn ruefully admitted that part of the problem was him.

“I just can’t beat them into you the way Scathach would. You need to go to her if you want to get any further,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “And she might be able to take you further with the shadow. Just knowing it isn’t the same as being able to use it.”

“Perhaps the World will send me to her. But I thank you for your instruction, you have taught me so much,” Diarmuid said with a small bow and Cu Chulainn smiled.

“Good luck, wherever you go.” They clasped hands then, before Diarmuid turned away. He began to walk but didn’t go far before blue surrounded him. As it did, Diarmuid smiled.

He was going to enjoy showing Archer the runes he’d learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things are confusing... I realized well after I wrote this that Diarmuid's red spear is actually Gae Dearg, in Fate anyway. In Wikipedia he has Gae Bolg, which started the confusion. Anyway, I decided to run with it because the connection it gives to Cu Chulainn, an older hero, is cool. Also I called it Gae Bolg several times in the main story. :)


	13. Caster vs Saber & Archer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caster: 1  
> Saber and Archer: 0

_I am going to kill you for this,_ Archer’s thought was hazed and fragmented with pleasure. Diarmuid immediately protested.

“It’s not my fault!” It really wasn’t. He couldn’t stop his hand, couldn’t stop the filthy things he was doing to Archer with the hilt of his sword. Archer’s legs and arms were tied up with mystical red ribbons at obscene angles and the only thing he was wearing was his red coat. Honey-brown eyes opened to look at him with a lustful haze.

“You’re getting off on it you deviant,” Archer muttered, his voice full of dark desire. Diarmuid’s right hand shoved the hilt of his sword in more firmly and Archer hissed, arching against his bonds as Diarmuid’s left stroked his own cock. Archer’s was upright, neglected and dripping a bit onto his hard, toned belly.

“Not as much as some people…” The author of their… pain… was close at hand and Diarmuid turned his head to look at her. The bright red dildo she was using and the obscene spread of her thighs were worthy of a second look.

In this edition of the Grail War, Caster was a very interesting person. Hecate, the Goddess of Witches. She wasn’t what Diarmuid would have expected at all. Apparently, her position also included lust and fertility, two areas she filled with verve and élan. Appearance wise, Hecate was a ripe, older woman with long brown hair and many laugh lines when she smiled. Her body was deliciously curved and padded in just the right way, lush but not quite overweight. Everything about her said that she’d love having a man between her thighs and show him the best of good times.

Hecate also wasn’t particularly murderous. Instead of gathering power through death, she preferred to drain it by setting up tantric sex circles and encouraging orgies. Social media had come in handy there, letting her arrange quite a few parties. Also, she tended not to take the whole Grail War very seriously, playing some particularly amusing pranks on the other Servants. She’d gotten Lancer and Rider good. Rider was still sulking but Lancer had taken it in good fun.

Now, though, she was finally getting down to business. With the small part of his brain that wasn’t completely involved in Archer’s naked body, Diarmuid thought about it. This was _entirely_ their Master’s faults. The two idiots had decided to betray each other, each separately allying with Caster, who had decided to screw them both because, as she’d said to Diarmuid and Archer, fuck them. It wasn’t the kind of thought a Servant should have but privately, Diarmuid agreed with the sentiment.

Hecate’s own Master entered the room. He was a very handsome young man with light brown hair, crystalline armor – shockingly good at combat for a human – and a hand firmly over his eyes.

“Caster, how long is this going to take?” The businesslike tone was admirable. Archer moaned, a low, incredibly arousing sound and Diarmuid had to repress the urge to giggle. Way to go Archer, way to go.

“It takes as long as it takes!” Hecate shoved the rabbit into herself more firmly, a hand caressing one beautiful breast. “If you want you can come help me over here – “ That made her Master practically run out of the room. “Oh yes,” Hecate gasped, her body quaking and quivering. Diarmuid felt more prana draining out of himself and Archer and knew she’d just orgasmed.

The backwash of her pleasure hit them both and Diarmuid saw Archer arch, his lips forming a perfect O before he erupted. The sight of that beautiful body bowed, cum spraying across his belly and chest, took Diarmuid quite neatly over the edge. His own semen joined that spray, painting Archer with it and more prana flowed. Hecate was using them both as living magic batteries, surreptitiously draining their Masters. How she was keeping that a secret from them Diarmuid wasn’t sure but Hecate was confident they wouldn’t notice the drain until too late.

They weren’t done though. Everyone knew it, as they fought to catch their breaths.

“Can he be the one tied up this time please?” Archer’s voice was ragged and Diarmuid blinked at him, mildly shocked by the suggestion.

“And you call me a deviant? You want to shove a sword hilt up my arse?” Diarmuid asked, the hilarity of the situation reaching him. Was this what Heroic Spirits did in their free time? He wouldn’t put it past Lancer. Hecate laughed as Archer smiled up at him. He was just about to respond when someone else stepped into the room and speak of the devil.

“Hello ladies!” Lancer, Cu Chulainn, waved at Archer who tried to glare. It wasn’t very convincing. A wicked grin crossed his face as he went to Hecate. She gazed at him with heat in her dark eyes. “Your Master mumbled something about helping you. I think I see what he meant,” red eyes travelled lasciviously over her curves and Diamuid couldn’t help it. He giggled. “Can I fuck you woman?”

“Oh yes please do,” Hecate purred and then Cu Chulainn was on her like a starving dog. The red ribbons suddenly ensnared Diarmuid and he yelped as he felt himself pinned facedown onto the hard stone, his arse in the air. Archer’s slightly hysterical laughter reached his ears before he heard the words ‘trace on’. Oh crap, Archer’s weapons? They were differently designed than his claymore, which actually tapered into a reasonable sized end. Well, at least there was lots and lots of lube. Hecate had made sure of that. Diarmuid managed to turn his head enough to watch Cu Chulainn showing his stamina to the Goddess of Witches and my GOD were they a gorgeous pair. Her feet were up in the air as her nails scored his back, little trails of blood that just seemed to inflame him. The blood trickled down, over his tattoo, outlining the ridges and whorls.

Then Archer was putting a hilt into him and Diarmuid lost any capacity for rational thought. It hurt but in SUCH a good way! Vaguely, Diarmuid wondered if they could die of this.

He wasn’t sure but if they did, he’d die a happy man.


	14. Saber & Assassin vs Lancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saber and Assassin: 1  
> Lancer: 0

_Such a chivalrous fool,_ Counter-guardian Diarmuid ua Duibhne patiently listens to Heroic Spirit Diarmuid ua Duibhne nattering about how he’s been looking forward to a fair duel with Sabre. _As if a fair duel is what I have in mind._ Of course, what’s no doubt confusing himself a bit is the mask the Counter-Guardian is wearing. It marks him as a Knight of Fianna.

_Shall I shoot him for you?_ Comes the thought of his fellow Counter-Guardian. Diarmuid’s lips twist in amusement.

_With your so powerful bow?_ Diarmuid can feel the irritation and almost embarrassment. His smile widens behind his mask. _The poison is more than enough. I’ll do for him._ Poor Archer. For the very first time, not actually an Archer. It’s been quite a trial for him, getting used to being called Assassin. Although he’s proven very skillful in his new alternate class.

His Heroic self is getting frustrated at the lack of response and the Counter-Guardian is bored of the prattle. So he removes his claymore from his shoulder and makes a good try at removing that chattering head. Of course, red and gold spears stop him quite handily. Diarmuid’s sword might not be magic, but the ugly thing handles the spears quite well.

They clash over and over, almost equally matched although Saber is the stronger class of the two. Still, that kind of strength can easily be overcome with a bit of cleverness. A shame his Heroic self is rather lacking in that.

“Who are you?” Heroic Diarmuid demands as they separate for just a moment. “Have I angered you somehow that you won’t even give me your name? This is most unsporting!” …Oh he hasn’t seen anything yet.

Unfortunately for his hero self, the two Counter-Guardians are blood soaked bastards. So Assassin (hehe that always makes him smile) triggers the poison and blood abruptly spills from the shocked man’s lips as something ruptures deep inside. All the more shocking because the girl who gave him the poison was someone he trusted. Such a little lamb.

The rest of the battle becomes exceedingly unsporting as Lancer tries to fight with a ruptured gut. Saber makes short work of him of course. But then the damned idiot has to keep chattering.

“Are you holding… a grudge… about Grainne? Did I wrong you?” His hero self pants and Diarmuid sighs softly to himself, lowering his sword for just a moment. “How can a knight treat another knight so?”

“I am not a knight,” Diarmuid finally speaks, his first words to himself so far. Brown eyes fix desperately on him and he can see the burning desire to _know._ It seems cruel not to give him that much. Although Diarmuid knows he’s got a cruel streak and giving himself this knowledge will just be _fun._ “I am a blood soaked butcher, the murderer of countless men, women and children.” None of them exactly innocent, mind. The World didn’t cull people just for fun. The children though… even when Diarmuid knew they were all infested with brain worms or something, the children still haunted him. “You wish my story? Very well, I will give it to you,” although why he was bothering to talk to a dead man who would shortly be dead again was a mystery. Well, aside from the fun part.

_I could just shoot him for you,_ Assassin-Archer offered again and Diarmuid smiled to himself. How considerate. But no, he’d enjoy beheading the moron. _You keep calling yourself an idiot. I admit to being confused by this._ They could discuss that later, if there was a later.

“I am a man who faked his own death, leaving behind his honor and knighthood after witnessing my lord betray me,” Diarmuid told himself, who looked at him with a frown. “I left my country and my people behind, hiring my sword to the highest bidder. Until a wandering soul came to me, lost, alone and dying. I nursed the man back to health and he brought me back to my home, to save my lord from the great menace within his own court. And do you know what my reward was for my heroic deed?” Diarmuid allowed irony to enter his voice. “They burned me at the stake,” he said and saw the hero’s eyes widen. “Blaming me and the man who’d brought me. We burned together and as we died, I prayed to the World that I would remain by his side and he would never have to be alone again. And so it was.” Diarmuid reached for his mask, feeling the wind rippling his cloak. From the way his hero self was staring at him now, he was a truly imposing figure and Diarmuid enjoyed the drama of the moment. “As for who I am…” He pulled aside the mask, revealing his scarred but still handsome face and smiled down at the other man. The hero’s mouth was opening and closing, eyes huge in his face. Not a marvelous look on him. “Hello myself. And goodbye, myself.”

The blow of his claymore cleanly severed Lancer’s head from his shoulders. And Diarmuid truly enjoyed it. Hmm, was this suicide? No matter. Not bothering to clean his sword, Diarmuid turned away from the disappearing corpse.

What were a few more bloodstains on his bloody, bloody blade?


	15. Two Deaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caster (Cu Chulainn) : 1  
> Lancer and Assassin: 0
> 
> The World: 1  
> Counter-Guardians: 0

_Damn damn damn!_ Diarmuid glanced down at wide, terrified eyes. The girl in his arms looked like a little doe in the hands of a huntsman. His gauntleted hand was over her face and the air rune inside was supplying her with clean air. That was the only reason she was still alive. The black mist around them was searing Diarmuid’s lungs as he ran, trying desperately to find a way out.

Unleashing the Malignant Miasma had seemed like a good idea at the time. Berserker was too much for them but his master was not. The mist would put paid to the man and quickly, too. It had worked perfectly and Berserker was still thrashing around, wasting his energy as he tried to escape the mist.

What they hadn’t counted on was an evil bastard named Cu Chulainn, slotted into the Caster class. He’d taken one look at the situation and tossed up a wind rune. Then the fog had gone all over the damned place! Diarmuid made a note to kill his mentor, if he got out of this alive.

_I’m sorry,_ Assassin’s thought was very weak. He’d made it out but just barely. Fortunately, Emiya’s Master was injured and sitting this one out. Diarmuid would have laughed but he didn’t have the breath for it. He was stumbling now and very much doubted he’d make it. _So sorry._

_Don’t be sorry I thought it was a good idea._ And it had been, it really had. Caster shouldn’t have been here. Ah, there, was the mist thinning ahead of them?!?

It was and Diarmuid mustered the last of his energy, running for it. Suddenly, they broke free of the mist and he drew a gulping breath of untainted air. Diarmuid could feel his little mistress sobbing in absolute relief before he dropped the air rune and let her go. Although they weren’t out of the woods just yet.

“Keep… going…” Diarmuid rasped out, feeling like his lungs were on fire. The wind could turn at any time. Ah, wait, there was an embankment here, that was perfect! “Go up…” The miasma settled in lower areas unless it was being pushed by a strong wind. She grabbed the dirt and started to climb, Diarmuid giving her a gentle boost. Then he followed, wishing he could rest. God he hurt! Yet, Diarmuid knew he would recover, given a bit of time. As he got over the embankment Diarmuid heard his mistress sobbing. Why? They were safe –

Then he heard the crunch of a booted foot and his eyes fell on it, the supple blue leather. Feeling exhausted and without hope, Diarmuid followed the foot up, seeing Caster’s robes and the nasty smile on his face.

“I know you’re going to kill me but please let her live,” Diarmuid said tiredly, looking to his mistress. She was on the ground, her face bruising, and Diarmuid was sure Cu Chulainn had hit her. Why? Oh, her little gun was on the ground over there, that was why. Caster shrugged, a rune forming in his hand.

“I’ll let her live if she agrees to go to the Church and turn herself in for sanctuary. Otherwise, she dies,” Caster said casually, before resting his hand against Diarmuid’s forehead. He could feel the energy building in the rune, the power of stars. _Sorry Shirou. You’ll have to finish this one without me,_ Diarmuid heard Assassin’s despairing cry just before the rune flashed.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

 

Sometimes, being a Counter-Guardian really stank.

Diarmuid reflected on it as he lay in a pool of his own blood. They’d succeeded. Their mission was a great success and the magus who thought he’d won was absolutely screwed. He just didn’t know it yet.

That didn’t make their personal situation any better. Diarmuid was Lancer this time and his dark lance, a great halberd, was broken in half and sizzling. Half of it was over there, embedded in Archer’s chest. The other half was in his own guts. A bit harsh, doing him in with his own weapon. The sound of Archer’s bubbling breathing wasn’t good either.

“Can I play with them father? Can I?” And that was the voice of madness. Diarmuid grunted as a small foot hit the halberd lodged in his gut, sending shooting pain through him. _Archer? You might want to die faster,_ Diarmuid thought through a haze of pain and felt more than heard Archer’s dry little chuckle.

_Oh believe me I’m trying._ Try harder Archer, try harder. Diarmuid almost managed a laugh but then groaned as he heard the magus speak.

“Of course son. Make as big a mess as you like, we’re leaving in the morning.” When he tried to leave was when the magus would finally realize how badly he’d been fucked over. Not that it did them a lick of good right now. Hmm. How much energy did Diarmuid have left? There was one idea he had. If he could muster up everything into a tightly controlled burst…

“I think I’ll start with an eyeball!” A hand reached for his face and just as it touched him, Diarmuid mustered all of his strength. He tore the head of the halberd out of his own body. The monster-child on him leapt away and Diarmuid knew if he attacked the thing it would just be pathetic. But his target was someone else entirely.

The halberd tore through Archer’s throat and the other Counter-Guardian died with an agonized wheeze. Diarmuid heard a loud and clear _FUCK_ just before death took Archer and knew the other man would give him hell, when he got back to the bubble. And Diarmuid wouldn’t apologize because he cared for Archer just as much as Archer cared for him and he’d do anything to spare the other man pain.

Then his strength was gone and Diarmuid collapsed. The monster-child was upset.

“HEY! I was going to torture him a lot! Now I’ll have to torture you DOUBLE!” …Yes, that was why Archer would be upset… “Now I’m going to take BOTH your eyes! But not right to start. I’ll make you watch!” Wonderful.

As the child-thing got started on him, Diarmuid thought of Archer and his voice, calm and cool and angry as the other Counter-Guardian berated him for being a self-sacrificing fool.

_Worth it, Archer. It’s damned well worth it._


	16. Echoes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by another fic on here where Kirei takes Kiritsugu captive after the Grail War.

“Bloody _hell_ Assassin it’s 2 AM in the god-forsaken morning!” Diarmuid grumbled, rubbing his forehead as he walked through the darkened streets of the city. “What are you doing fiddling around the church anyway?”

_I just… I smelled something funny alright?_ …Smelled something. _You know my senses are keener as Assassin!_

“Hn, yes, well but.. ah, fine,” Diarmuid said, giving up. It was true, Shirou’s senses were enhanced in his Assassin class. He could navigate even in pure darkness using nothing but the feel of the air on his skin. Well, he’d also trained himself to do it in the bubble, it hadn’t come naturally. “What do you want me for though?” What had Assassin found? There was a pause before Archer spoke quietly.

_I need your empathic connections. There’s a man here who can’t communicate._ Can’t communicate? That was unusual. Diarmuid sighed gustily.

“Alright. I’m here – oh.” Assassin melted out of the shadows and Diarmuid was struck by the tension in him, the tightness around his eyes. Emiya was truly upset and it took a _lot_ to upset a Counter-Guardian. “Show me,” Diarmuid said in a low tone, moving as quietly as he could. Unfortunately, stealth was his weakest point.

Fortunately, the priest was gone. Gone where? Diarmuid didn’t know and that made a spot between his shoulder blades itch. He completely forgot about that, though, when he saw what had managed to unsettle Assassin.

“My god what is it?” Diarmuid whispered as he looked over what had once been a person. It was emaciated, hideously so, but that was only the start of the problems. Scars, so many scars, making odd and unsettling patterns. Fingers were missing, toes were missing. Ears had been altered, jabbed with things and then allowed to rot. The face… he quickly looked away from the face. Diarmuid though the pathetic creature had once been a man, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He wasn’t going to look closely enough at the crotch to be sure either. It stank too, unwashed body combined with putrefaction.

“I think he’s my father,” Assassin said and at first, Diarmuid didn’t compute the sentence. Then his head whipped towards Emiya and he saw the calm composure on his face and the agonizing pain in his eyes.

“Sweet god in heaven,” Diarmuid whispered. “I… he can’t talk?” The… man opened his mouth and Diarmuid flinched as he saw there wasn’t a tongue. And the hands were too mutilated to hold a pen. “Right, I’ll get started.” Touching it made his skin crawl but he was a damned Counter-Guardian. He could touch the poor man, he could. Diarmuid forced himself to push aside his revulsion, resting a hand on his forehead.

This was a unique power of Diarmuid’s. If he chose it, he could fill his heart with empathy and synchronize himself to another person, gaining entry to their thoughts. It was similar to his bond with Emiya but fleeting and ephemeral. To do it, though, he had to truly empathize with the other person. That was a bit difficult in this case because of his utter disgust but Diarmuid managed to still that emotion and begin the process of reaching out.

It was easier than he might have expected. Many people didn’t want to share their innermost thoughts and feelings with him, he had to almost seduce them, gently assure them of how much he cared. This man didn’t give a damn. He reached out to Diarmuid desperately and Diarmuid found, to his horror, that the man was nearly sane. Why wouldn’t god give the poor man the gift of madness?

_Please kill me,_ the thought was filled with utter desperation and Diarmuid responded instantly.

“Oh yes we’ll kill you I guarantee it I’d not leave my worst enemy like this – “ The Witch who’d murdered Grainne, blackened Fionn’s heart and gotten him burned at the stake, would he have left her like this? No, Diarmuid knew he’d have killed her and considered her butcher’s bill paid in full. “You’ll die I swear it,” Diarmuid said and felt the frantic desperation ease a touch. A single dark eye stared at him – the other was… guh… before moving to Assassin.

_I cannot be his father. I do not have a son,_ the thought came with absolute certainty and Diarmuid said it aloud. Assassin knelt beside the man before speaking.

“I am from an alternate timeline. I was a child, orphaned in the explosion of Fuyuki. You used Avalon to save me and raised me as your own,” Assassin said quietly. “My name is Emiya Shirou. You are Emiya Kiritsugu, correct?”

_Yes,_ the man thought and Diarmuid said, feeling the wonder in him as he looked at the man who might have been his son if things had gone a bit differently. _After the explosion I was captured by Kotomine Kirei. Kirei has been amusing himself with me ever since._ The rage in that thought! _I’ve tried to kill myself so many times. Please, you will kill me?_

“Of course we will,” Diarmuid soothed, reflecting on the fact that he’d likely be saying this a lot. Emiya Kiritsugu wasn’t mad but he wasn’t entirely stable either. Well that would have needed a horrific miracle. “But before we do that, what can you tell us of Kirei’s plans? So we might stymie them most thoroughly?”

The answer to that question was _a lot._ Kotomine Kirei hadn’t hidden a thing from his toy and why would he? Kiritsugu couldn’t speak, hold a pen, communicate in any way. Kirei had never imagined a power like Diarmuid’s and he recited everything Kiritsugu told him, confident Assassin would remember. Finally, though, they reached the end.

_That is all I know. Please kill me._ Diarmuid said that aloud before looking at Assassin Emiya. Honey-brown eyes met his and Diarmuid knew that Shirou couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill his own father.

So Diarmuid did it for him. It hardly required any pressure at all really, a fragile neck breaking in his gauntleted hands. Diarmuid felt a burst of relief and thankfulness through the empathic connection before it ended with the cold finality of death. Taking a deep breath, Diarmuid stood.

“We need to get out of here before the priest comes,” he said practically and saw a terrible coldness enter Assassin’s eyes. The other man nodded and Diarmuid was sure Assassin was already thinking about how to make Kirei’s death as painful as possible. And after spending a length of time apprenticed to Hassan himself, he had so many ways to do it. As they left, Diarmuid idly reflected on it. The thought of taking a horrible, gruesome vengeance of their own should be repugnant to a knight. Yet, it didn’t bother him at all.

But then, Saber was not a knight anymore.


	17. The Fourth Grail War - Part 1

Diarmuid felt the unique sensation that was a Grail War summoning. Being pulled out of the bubble and then fully incarnated was always an odd sensation, but the Grail made it stranger. However, that didn’t explain why he felt completely off when his boots hit the ground.

“…” The haze was clearing as Diarmuid tried to figure it out. His first clue came when he looked over his costume. It was very different from his usual clothing. As Saber, Diarmuid wore battered but very functional armor and his grey cloak and mask. As Lancer, he used the cloak but generally abandoned the mask and beneath his cloak, he wore supple brown leathers.

This new costume followed the theme of practicality but then added a few flourishes. He was wearing dark brown pants, fabric only, delicately whorled with a grey design. His shirt was only a vest, the same fabric and patterning. With his chest and arms bared, the almost lace-like burn scars all over the right side of his chest were visible. They had been painted with an interesting dye, grey but with a subtle dappling of silver. Diarmuid rubbed at it and realized it was part of his skin, not coming off. It turned the scars into something beautiful and he wondered if it went onto his face. Oddly enough, he didn’t have a weapon.

“Oh bloody hell I’m Caster,” Diarmuid muttered. He’d known this might happen, after he completed his apprenticeship to Scathach. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with it though. Squaring his shoulders, he met the gaze of the man in front of him. A blonde man all in black, he was frowning like Diarmuid had personally offended him. “Are you my master?”

“You are NOT what I expected.” Well, he wasn’t what he’d expected either. They’d just have to make the best of it. “You were supposed to be a Saber or a Lancer,” the little dip sounded personally offended that he wasn’t. Diarmuid sighed, spreading his hands.

“I am a great master of the runes.” He truly could say that now. Scathach had forced him to really master the runes that answered but not strongly, like earth and wind. Ice and light were hopeless but she’d told him that was normal, when a strong affinity was present. “I don’t suppose you have a friend or ally who’s summoning this instant?” Diarmuid wistfully thought of Archer. When they were summoned into the Grail wars they could sometimes – well, often – end up enemies in the end. But usually they were initially summoned by magi on friendly terms with each other, intending to act as a pair. His master’s frown deepened.

“My fiancée will be completing her summoning shortly. I am Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald. A Caster! The only thing worse would be Assassin.” …Ahahahaha. Diarmuid hoped it happened, he really did. And god damn but it might, Caster and Archer were both ranged, Assassin was at least melee. Unless Archer got slotted into the Saber class? He was skilled enough with swords to qualify but it would be irregular to say the least. Then again, the Grail sometimes liked to be irregular.

In this case, though, it wasn’t.

“ASSASSIN? What in hell were you doing?!?” Kayneth exploded on the red haired woman who seemed to be his fiancée. She immediately shot back about his ‘sub par relic’ and they were off and running. Diarmuid exchanged a glance with Assassin. His lips were quirked up just a touch.

_Shall we go find some beer?_ Diarmuid suggested via their mental connection and Assassin’s smile became just a bit more pronounced.

_Oh yes. I have a feeling this is going to be a long Grail War,_ Emiya said and Diarmuid chuckled as they left the bickering lovebirds to look for beer. Alas, all they found was wine. Probably an excellent vintage but Diarmuid really didn’t have a taste for it. Deciding alcohol outweighed everything, he took a glass anyway. Soon he and Assassin were on the couch and Emiya was exploring the varied and somewhat horrific reality TV programs on offer. They could vaguely hear the yelling in the distance and Diarmuid wondered how long they’d be at it.

Oh my yes this would be a long Grail War.

* * *

 

On the surface, Diarmuid was smiling, open and interested in the discussion happening around him. On the inside, he was torn between hilarity and absolute outrage. In the back of his mind, Assassin was listening through his ears and Diarmuid could sense his powerful amusement.

Kayneth and Sola-Ui were discussing strategy and had included Caster in their discussion because, in their minds, he was one of them. A fellow magus, if a rather barbaric one. It went without saying that he would understand their concerns.

Assassin, however, did not warrant such respect. In fact, they held him in contempt and were currently discussing how best to expend him. They only needed one Servant to win, after all. And if they could use Assassin to eliminate one of the most powerful competitors losing him would absolutely be worth it. Who cared about a near-useless backstabber of a Servant? Their lack of concern for Emiya’s life was fueling Diarmuid’s quiet anger. The fact that Assassin was hearing every word was incredibly amusing.

Diarmuid rested his chin in his hand, silently consulting with Emiya. _What should we do?_

_Betray them both at the soonest opportunity,_ he replied instantly and Diarmuid nodded before contributing a bit to the discussion, offering an opinion on their tactics. _I have an idea that I think might even work._

_Tell me later,_ Diarmuid said, before devoting all of his attention to the discussion in front of him. Having a plan for these two imbeciles made him feel better and Diarmuid was able to put aside his anger, although it was still funny. The idiots had no idea they might as well be talking into Assassin’s ears.

When that farce was over, Diarmuid retired to his own room. Lying on the bed, he had a very deep consultation with Emiya.

_You know I can trace weapons that don’t belong to me,_ Assassin said and Diarmuid nodded. _But overall, I can’t make them work, or only at ruinous cost._

_Yes._ Emiya had mastered Caladbolg and Rho Aias. That was it. Although they were working on changing that. With Diarmuid’s help, his old blades might eventually be repurposed as arrows. That was a long way off, though, if it could be done at all. _Can’t imagine where you’re going though. Caster can’t make your swords work._ Sometimes, Archer could trace a special weapon and then Diarmuid could make it work. That was for Saber or Lancer though. Archer’s chuckle was just a little nasty.

_This is the exception. It’s a blade and noble phantasm called Rule Breaker._ Rule Breaker? _A ceremonial dagger owned by Medea, the Witch of Betrayal. Its’ nature is to break all contracts and it’s meant to be used by a magus._ …ahhhh.

_So you can’t use it as Archer or Assassin, only Caster._ Technically, Emiya could be summoned as Caster, he had the skills if just barely. It had never happened though, not once. Diarmuid felt Assassin’s resigned agreement. _But you can trace it for me and I can use it._

_Yes, exactly. There’s a problem though. When Medea used it she was gathering prana from the inhabitants of the city._ Diarmuid frowned, sitting up. Was Assassin suggesting?

“I am not setting up tantric sex circles! God damned horny women,” Diarmuid snapped and there was a dead silence from Assassin.

_Uh… no. That’s not how Medea did it. She did it the other way,_ Assassin said and Diarmuid grimaced before going back to mental replies. He didn’t want anyone to overhear and didn’t trust Kayneth and Sola-Ui an inch.

_That’s even worse. I’m not killing people. Unless she managed without that?_ It… might be possible if you were very careful. Assassin’s soft sigh touched the back of his mind.

_She did kill at first, sometimes deliberately. After a while she figured out how to take just enough and not too much._ Adorable. Diarmuid grimaced, rubbing his forehead. Could he figure that out without a few, ahem, accidents? Not likely. And when he was not being compelled to kill by the World he found murder distasteful. _Do you think you can figure something out?_

_…Maybe._ Blood magic was the obvious way but there were other options. _I’ll have to work with the Earth runes and the ley lines._ Diarmuid could already tell his affinity with Earth was much greater than it had been as Saber or Lancer. On close inspection, he’d realized the grey patterns in his clothing were actually Earth runes and they were meant to let him draw from the ground beneath his feet and focus the energy into body. He could fight hand-to-hand against powerful enemies with those runes. But what else could they do?

_See how much of a power base you can build. If you can support us directly, you can break our contracts and we’ll kill them before going rogue and trying to take the Grail for ourselves._ …What did they want the Grail for exactly? Diarmuid had exactly what he wanted. _We want to destroy it. It’s cursed remember?_ Oh right, he’d forgotten. But then, Emiya was the one who’d directly experienced that. _But worry about that when the time comes. For now, come over here, I need you._ Say what?

_Is that wise? If they know we’re lovers they might suspect._ Diarmuid thought and heard Assassin’s sweet, soft chuckle.

_I’m not going to be without you for this whole Grail War. Just tell them I’m a convenient vehicle for your lusts._ That was rather repulsive. _Who cares what they think?_

_I’ll also tell them you were easy to seduce,_ Diarmuid said and felt more than heard Assassin’s snort. _Desperate to feel my cock._

_Keep that up and I won’t,_ Emiya growled and Diarmuid decided not to push it any further. Smiling, he pushed himself off the bed and went to find his Assassin.

When he did, Diarmuid was reminded that Emiya had been given plenty of time to prepare things while he’d been listening to a pair of dueling magi sniping at each other in between talking tactic.

“The love nest of evil. Are you planning to use those on me?” Diarmuid asked, looking in bemusement at the handcuffs and various other items strewn over the bed. He couldn’t even name half this stuff! Although. “We don’t need a dildo.” It was impressively sized too, dark brown in color and veined realistically. Assassin smiled at him, his honey-brown eyes full of amusement.

“Have you ever had a dick up your ass while you were fucking someone else?” The crude question was a turn on and Diarmuid swallowed back a bit of drool at the thought. Why was he still wearing clothing? Assassin wasn’t, except for a single leather strap on his upper thigh. Normally, it was meant to hold a knife. That thing stuffed in the sheath right now wasn’t that, though. Looked like some kind of controller? Putting that aside, Diarmuid pulled off his vest, kicked off his boots and then started on his pants.

“Your ideas intrigue me and I want to know more. But really, where did you get all this?” That was a bit puzzling. Assassin chuckled before spreading himself out over the bed, picking up something green and knobby and setting it aside.

“My mistress forgot to close a box in her room so I explored. I doubt she’ll miss them.” Diarmuid was sure that was wrong but he definitely didn’t care. Hmm, the lovely Sola-Ui had a perverted side though, that was interesting. “What would you prefer to start with though? Double penetration or bondage?”

“Double penetration,” Diarmuid said instantly. They’d done bondage before. This promised to be more elaborate than the simple ropes they’d had, but cuffs and blindfolds would still be familiar. Emiya’s smile was full of warmth and lust.

“I was hoping you would say that. Let me move a few things…” The blindfold, cuffs and miscellaneous bondage gear were dumped to the side. Only the dildo and the strap on Assassin’s leg remained. Diarmuid was quite curious about that. Although as Emiya spread himself out on the bed, Diarmuid paused to look. Tanned skin against pure white blankets with that leather strap to add a bit of exotic danger, god but he was handsome like this!

“Have I told you how gorgeous you are?” Diarmuid asked and Assassin chuckled softly.

“You might have mentioned it a time or two. Have I mentioned how beautiful that skin dye makes your scars?” Emiya gestured to him and Diarmuid joined him on the bed. A hand slid over his chest, playing with the sensitive scar tissue and making him shiver. “They look like exotic tattoos, or perhaps a scarification ritual.”

“You make me feel so sexy,” Diarmuid murmured before kissing Assassin. He tasted as marvelous as ever, his lips warm and alive. A warm hand slid through his hair, deepening the kiss. “Mmm… how will you put that into me?” Diarmuid asked, glancing at the dildo.

“Before we begin. It’s also a vibrator and this is the controller.” …Kinky. Diarmuid smiled and settled on his back, spreading his legs to give Assassin room. Fingers coated in lube were soon opening him up, preparing him to take the large toy. It was big enough to require a fair amount of preparation.

Then Emiya was inserting it and Diarmuid groaned, hands fisting the blankets as the dildo dug at his insides. It hurt a little, yes it did but in a marvelous way. It settled nicely inside him, rubbing gently against his prostate and Diarmuid was sure it would feel even better when it was vibrating. Speaking of which.

“When are you going to turn that on?” Diarmuid asked and Assassin’s soft chuckle was music to his ears.

“Whenever I want to.” Oh is that how this would go? Well, he wouldn’t mind a bit. Diarmuid mock-growled before pushing himself up and going for Emiya. He pinned the other man to the bed and Assassin didn’t resist a bit as his lips were claimed a second time. The kiss was deep and passionate and eventually they came up for air, gasping at the heat between them.

Hitching Assassin’s hips up, Diarmuid began to prepare him. The heavy duty lube they were using was better than the mineral oil, although the oil had charms it lacked. Diarmuid made sure to find Emiya’s prostate and gave him a gentle massage, watching the expression on his face. The way Shirou’s lips parted, his eyes fogging with pleasure, was absolutely gorgeous.

It got even better when Diarmuid removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock. Assassin’s gasp was musical and the tight, grasping heat around his member was marvelous, particularly with the dildo inside him, stimulating his prostate as he took Emiya. And that little controller slid out of the leather sheath, held in one tanned hand.

“…!” Diarmuid’s breath went out in a gasp as the vibrator was switched on. The gentle rubbing motion was incredible! “Shirou,” Diarmuid breathed as he moved, taking Assassin with slow, measured thrusts. Emiya’s left hand gently stroked his cheek, tracing the scars as his right played with the controller. Oh god what was he doing there?!

“Harder, please,” Assassin moaned and Diarmuid obliged, speeding his thrusts and reaching between them to stroke Emiya’s cock. It was hard to concentrate though, with that vibrator doing such sinful things inside him. Vaguely, Diarmuid made a note. They were going to have to switch places later. And when they did he was going to make Assassin suffer in the best of ways.

Just like Emiya was doing to him now. He was exploring the different settings on the controller and Diarmuid was getting worried that he might cum too soon, gasping as his body was tormented with pleasure. He was taking Assassin harshly now, unable to control himself but Emiya seemed to love it, gasping encouragements in his ear.

“Oh god Shirou I’m going to…” He couldn’t hold back anymore, he couldn’t! Emiya’s breath was hot in his ear.

“Do it, I’m… there…” Oh god! Tanned fingers flicked the controller and Diarmuid almost screamed as he came, undone by the combination of sensations he was experiencing. The pleasure of the moment was absolutely sinful, radiating from his belly as he shook with the force of it. Assassin’s ecstatic cry followed a moment later, his cum splashing between them. Diarmuid gasped, barely managing to hold himself up as he trembled. He could feel the sweat on his body and see it gleaming on Emiya’s tanned skin, practically inviting him to lick it up. Hmm… that was a marvelous idea… Diarmuid suited actions to thoughts and slowly lapped a trail of sweat off Assassin’s chest, savoring the salty taste. Although.

“Turn that off please? It’s starting to hurt,” Diarmuid muttered and Assassin chuckled, but flicked the controller to the off position. Diarmuid was relieved when the stimulation stopped. It was marvelous, yes, but he could only take so much of it. Reaching back he removed the toy, shuddering a little at the feel of it coming out. Damn but that thing was big! Then he pulled away from Assassin, making the other man groan. “I should probably…” Diarmuid knew he should go back to his own room. Emiya’s eyes seemed to darken, though.

“No, please stay,” Assassin said and the uneasiness, the painful reminder of years spent alone, held Diarmuid in place. Instead of leaving, he settled down with Emiya in the slightly too small bed, cuddling up against him. Assassin sighed and snuggled up, tucking neatly against his body.

Warm and comfortable, they slept.

* * *

 

“Caster, I need to talk to you,” Kayneth and he was frowning, glancing over the runes Diarmuid was experimenting with. The potent Earth runes gleamed with a subdued, greenish light before Diarmuid dispelled them with a wave of his hand. He wasn’t too worried about Kayneth seeing them – the magic was quite alien to what he used – but keeping them active while talking would only drain his mana.

“Yes my lord?” Diarmuid said respectfully, wistfully wishing he served a better sort of man. Kayneth seemed to be an unhappy person in general, small minded yet powerful. Also lacking much in the way of physical courage, although that was not necessarily a bad point. Diarmuid knew well the frustration of trying to protect a headstrong lord who wanted to fight himself.

“I want to discuss your relationship with Assassin,” Kayneth said and Diarmuid grimaced internally. He wasn’t surprised they’d noticed, Sola-Ui had quietly taken Assassin to task for stealing her things. Then she’d given him money and told him to go buy his own which was surprisingly nice of her. This was the first he’d heard from lord El-Melloi though. “Why are you bedding him?” No beating about the bush it seemed. Diarmuid gave a lazy, one-shoulder shrug.

“He has lovely coloring, he’s lithe and flexible and he was easy enough to seduce,” Diarmuid said indifferently. “Why shouldn’t I take my pleasure from him?” Kayneth seemed oddly ill at ease, he noticed.

“There’s no reason, I suppose. But you enjoy the company of other men?” Kayneth said and Diarmuid hesitated. The honest answer would be no. He only liked Emiya, no other man would get the time of day. Yet he absolutely couldn’t say that to Kayneth so what to say instead?

“I tend to prefer the female gender. But as the only lady here is your fiancée, Assassin seemed more prudent,” Diarmuid said cautiously. “May I ask what your concern is?” Something about this seemed odd. Kayneth wasn’t dressing him down or telling him he was an idiot. And he was fidgeting quite a bit.

Then Kayneth suddenly moved. Diarmuid’s eyes went wide as he was suddenly kissed. Not the best kiss in the world by a long shot but a very enthusiastic one. Then they parted and Diarmuid saw that Kayneth was blushing, although he was still composed. _Oh shit._ Diarmuid mentally scrambled around and desperately tried to signal Assassin before realizing Emiya was busy with something intense. He was on his own.

“My lord, I am flattered,” Diarmuid said, cursing himself at the husky note in his voice. Damnit he didn’t need to be seductive right now! “But you are engaged to be wed.” Damn, that seemed to be the story of his life didn’t it?

“It was arranged by our parents.” …What. The. Hell? Was he irresistible to unhappy fiancee’s? “I’m not expecting much in the way of fidelity from her and I doubt she’s expecting much from me.” A touch acerbic there. Diarmuid almost felt badly for him. Almost.

Diarmuid took just a moment to think hard. Was there a way out of this that wouldn’t deeply offend his Master? No, not really. Unfortunately he’d painted himself into a corner by pretending Assassin was nothing but a good fuck. Refusing would mean he found Kayneth personally undesirable. He didn’t think the other man would buy that Diarmuid was too deeply concerned for Sola-Ui to do it. _Shit._

“Then I would be honored to take you to my bed,” Diarmuid said aloud, hoping Assassin would forgive him with this. Although a despairing part of himself hoped Emiya would stab him. He’d honestly feel better. Kayneth looked a touch frightened yet excited and that made him suspect something. “My lord, have you ever been with a man?”

“No… it’s so hard to find partners like that in the Clock Tower…” Diarmuid really did feel sorry for Kayneth then. What had his childhood been like? Probably much worse than his own. Forcing the thought away – curse his empathy – Diarmuid took Kayneth’s hand and gave him an understanding smile.

“I’ll show you.” He’d likely have to pretend Kayneth was Assassin but the other man wouldn’t know. Going to his room, Diarmuid was glad the love nest of evil was in Assassin’s quarters. He didn’t think Kayneth would be ready for that sort of thing.

Also, he didn’t want to do this in the bed he and Emiya made love in.


	18. The Fourth Grail War - Part 2

Diarmuid lay on Assassin’s bed, internally reviewing what he would say when Emiya returned.

It would start with an apology. Then he would explain the situation, how he couldn’t find a plausible way out of it, and then beg for forgiveness. How would Assassin take it? Diarmuid wasn’t sure and was afraid he might be very angry. Well, if Emiya wanted to stab him he’d allow it. It was nothing less than he deserved.

When Assassin stumbled through the door, though, all his carefully rehearsed lines came to nothing.

“Assassin!” Diarmuid caught him before he would have fell, feeling how light Emiya was against him. That wasn’t good, he was losing prana! Diarmuid gently eased Assassin down onto the floor – it’d be easier to clean than the bed – and called up the healing runes.

Diarmuid quickly realized that Assassin had been shot, multiple times. Fortunately none of them had penetrated his mana core but the damage still wasn’t good, particularly for such a fragile Servant. Internally cursing Sola-Ui – why wasn’t she healing her own Servant? – Diarmuid set about fixing the damage. He used the full Earth runes and their affinity for the metal inside Emiya to delicately ease it out without inflicting more damage. Then the healing runes to patch everything together. Hmm, Assassin’s general mana pool was low. Had Sola-Ui cut him off or was he just not drawing for some reason? Well, Diarmuid could fix it when the healing was done.

And so he did. A mortal man could not have been healed so fast – flesh and blood required time to mend – but Servants were different. Assassin’s body knit together beneath his hands and Diarmuid breathed easier as he felt the ebb and flow of blood and mana, the signs of good health. White eyelashes fluttered and Diarmuid gasped as Assassin suddenly grabbed his arm in an iron grip, eyes opening wide.

“I didn’t know,” Assassin said, honey-brown eyes filled with such depth of feeling. “I’m so stupid I didn’t know the players I never thought I would be summoned for the Fourth Grail War oh god why didn’t I think?” Diarmuid stared in alarm as Assassin’s shoulders shook. “I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t do it. God, why was I so stupid?”

“Emiya, calm down,” Diarmuid said soothingly, and the emotion in Assassin’s eyes eased slightly, the grip on his arm going from painful to normal. “What happened?” Assassin sat up, grimacing, and Diarmuid helped him. Healed or not the wounds would still sting.

“The bed…” They both sat on the edge of it, Assassin leaning against him. Diarmuid held him close, comforting him. “It was my father.” Wait, what?! “I didn’t realize this was his Grail War, the one he fought in before I… they sent me out after a woman, the sacrifice to bring forth the Grail. I trapped Saber and almost had her but then my father interfered. I could have killed him. I know exactly how I would have but I couldn’t. I couldn’t.” Emiya sounded like he was in such pain. “I thought what we saw at the church was bad but seeing him again like this is just…”

“I know,” Diarmuid murmured, just holding Assassin close. His mind flashed back to the tortured man they’d found in the church, the anguish in Emiya’s honey-brown eyes. He loved his father very much and seeing him whole and hale and trying to kill him… Diarmuid could only imagine his anguish.

For a time they just sat there, taking comfort in each other. Diarmuid could sense Emiya’s emotions easing, though, and when he judged Assassin ready he asked a question.

“What will we do?” How would this change their plans? Assassin drew away a little, sitting up straight beside him as he gazed thoughtfully at the wall.

“This doesn’t change our plans for our Masters but it may change things afterwards. And I just failed my mission. I should go to receive my tongue-lashing.” …Hah! Diarmuid smiled but then it instantly faded as he suddenly remembered what he had to say. “Oh, what did you need me for? I’m sorry I blocked you out like that but I was at a critical point in trapping Saber.”

“It, uh…” Now that the moment came Diarmuid was tongue-tied. Damnit what had happened to his carefully rehearsed words?! “Lord Kayneth asked me to – I didn’t think I could say no – I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry I swear I didn’t really want to but I couldn’t think of a way out of it – “ Shit he was babbling! Diarmuid slid off the bed and knelt in front of Assassin. “I am so sorry,” he said, feeling choked. This wasn’t right, what he’d done, none of it was right. Then a hand was on his shoulder and the other was cupping his cheek, lifting his head.

“Diarmuid, am I understanding this correctly? Did you have sex with Kayneth?” Assassin’s tone was calm and collected and Diarmuid cringed a little before nodding. “…I see.” That was cold as the winter winds they’d met in.

“I’m sorry,” Diarmuid said, tasting the uselessness of the words. Then he gasped as strong arms grasped his shoulders and Assassin was kneeling in front of him, hugging him so hard he could barely speak.

“Idiot. I don’t blame you,” Emiya murmured in his ear and Diarmuid let out a choked sob, mostly from relief. That was just what he’d been afraid of. “I blame him for abusing his power over you. A servant should not be used in this way.” Assassin’s voice was edged with wrath.

“I… don’t blame him. He’s very alone,” Diarmuid said, unable to truly place the blame on Kayneth. Damned empathy. “And he didn’t know, he couldn’t know, I couldn’t tell him the truth.” If he had been able to tell Kayneth the truth, that Assassin was his love and lover, would the man have backed off? Diarmuid thought it was likely. “Also, I think he hasn’t had much love in his life.” Diarmuid got that feeling from Kayneth in many subtle ways. Emiya examined him for a moment, his honey brown eyes thoughtful. Then he shook his head.

“You can be too forgiving. Although you’re probably right, mage families in general tend to be cold and the Clock Tower is, if anything, worse.” A grim tone entered Assassin’s voice and Diarmuid was sure he was speaking from experience. “But really, I should go. My mistress is going to be most upset.” Ah right.

“Good luck,” Diarmuid wished and Assassin flashed him a quick smile before heading out. Diarmuid settled on the bed but didn’t sleep, monitoring his connection to Emiya. He wouldn’t put it past Sola-Ui to abuse him a bit and Diarmuid could help take the pain. At first he felt very little aside from tension and anger.

Then, abruptly, Diarmuid felt Emiya’s defenses go up, locking him out.

“What the?” Diarmuid breathed, trying to reach Assassin. But after so long together they’d figured out ways to keep each other out, when privacy and seclusion were necessary. Sometimes, though, that could mean one of them was being _stupid._ “Shirou!” The turd, what in hell was Sola-Ui doing? Diarmuid hesitated a moment before pushing himself up from the bed. He had to do something.

With the arrogant stride of a true Caster, Diarmuid made his way to Sola-Ui’s rooms and entered without knocking. What he saw there did not gladden his heart.

Sola-Ui had Assassin pinned to the carpet, a booted foot in his back. Assassin was grimacing, his hands held to the ground in the middle of red markings, runes but of the modern sort. To Diarmuid’s senses, though, the spell shouldn’t have been able to hold a Servant of any kind, even a weak one. Examining Emiya, though, told him the ugly truth. Sola-Ui was a magus and she was using her link with Assassin not to give him prana, but to drain it. Diarmuid ground his teeth together as he realized all the strength he’d given Shirou was gone, syphoned off into his master. Vaguely, Diarmuid realized Sola-Ui could only do this because Assassin was the weakest class. Emiya had no magical power to fight her off, nor any magical resistant to stifle her. He was very vulnerable to Sola-Ui’s games.

“What do you want?” Sola-Ui’s tone was cold as ice. Diarmuid leaned against the wall, a falsely indolent pose as Emiya looked up. Diarmuid saw conflicted emotions flash through honey-brown eyes but ignored it in favor of his mistress.

“I felt Assassin breach the wards and was wondering why he didn’t come to my rooms to visit me,” Diarmuid said casually and wondered if the words were a mistake, as a sick sort of smile tilted Sola-Ui’s lips. “Whatever has he done?”

“It’s what he hasn’t done. He failed to bring us the chalice of the grail!” Interesting way to put it given that she was a person, technically. “And he got himself shot by that idiot Kiritsugu! He’s a completely useless servant!” Admittedly, Assassin had botched his mission spectacularly. Still.

“It was too ambitious. Beautifully planned and it might have worked but the key word there is ‘might.’ If we wanted better odds, I should have been sent out with him,” Diarmuid commented before holding up a hand as Sola-Ui would have retorted. “I know you’re keeping me in reserve and portraying Assassin as your only servant. It’s a good idea, too, but it leaves him without support.”

“Hmph. You’re always so reasonable. But that plan should have worked and he fell to a mortal man, I was watching.” …ugh. “Due to nothing but his own hesitation! Why didn’t you kill him?” Sola-Ui ground her heel in a bit more firmly and Emiya whimpered softly. Diarmuid reached out, silently begging him to open his barriers and after a moment, Assassin relented. Pain shared was pain halved and Diarmuid took his portion, managing to keep his face serene. It was surprisingly painful, what was Sola-Ui doing with her boot exactly?

“I apologize my mistress, most humbly, for my failure,” Emiya’s voice was strained yet beautifully supplicating. Diarmuid felt a bit of alarm as that sick smile crossed Sola-Ui’s face again. _Shirou, careful. She’s enjoying this far too much._ He couldn’t see her face. Their eyes met and Assassin blinked in acknowledgement.

“You need a suitable punishment. And since you’re here, you can help,” Sola-Ui said to him and Diarmuid felt his skin crawl. Then his eyes widened as he felt Emiya’s prana drop to new lows.

“Mistress, careful! His core could collapse,” Diarmuid warned, wanting desperately to grab Emiya and infuse power into him. Sola-Ui sniffed before removing her foot and breaking the spells holding Assassin down. He didn’t move and Diarmuid was sure he couldn’t, he likely couldn’t even crawl.

“I know what I’m doing. Carry him to the bed.” The bed? Oh dear gods. Diarmuid contemplated refusing.

_Don’t. She’ll order you to leave and if you fight her, have Kayneth enforce it,_ Assassin’s thought was weak, too. _He won’t fight her for me._ No, why would he? Kayneth would probably agree that Assassin needed punishing. Taking a deep breath, Diarmuid gently lifted Assassin. God, he felt light as a feather. _I know it’s selfish but I don’t want to be alone._ Selfish?

_I want to be here. If I wasn’t my imagination would torment me more than the reality could,_ Diarmuid said, sure of it. After so long as a Counter Guardian his imagination had much experience to draw from.

“Now, let’s see…” Sola-Ui was bringing out rather familiar items, cuffs and bondage gear. Their eyes met and Diarmuid saw a measured fear in Emiya’s eyes. Careful to keep it out of sight, he gently stroked Assassin’s wrist. “Let’s fix him in a kneeling position.”

“I don’t think – oh.” Sola-Ui lightened up on the drain a bit and Diarmuid felt Emiya twitch. Diarmuid helped Assassin to move, getting him into the desired pose. Cuffs went around his wrists, affixed with chains. The chains, Sola-Ui clipped to the side’s of the bed? Were there rings there? Before pulling them cruelly tight. That forced Assassin to arch his back and Diarmuid saw a bit of sweat on tan skin, despite Emiya’s perfectly calm face. “Dematerialize your clothing,” Sola-Ui ordered and Assassin hesitated. “I can just cut it off. But if you make me do that, I might have a few accidents.” The clothing dissipated in a cloud of sparkles, revealing toned flesh. “Would you mind sucking him?” With Caster, she asked. Diarmuid was disgusted by the double standard.

“Not a bit,” he said, lying easily. While normally he’d love sucking Assassin off there was nothing normal about this. Diarmuid settled between Emiya’s thighs and began by gently licking his balls. There was a soft sound of indrawn breath but nothing else as Diarmuid gave Assassin’s testicles loving attention, sucking and laving them with his tongue. Saltier than usual, not too surprising after how much Emiya had exerted himself…

Then there was the hiss of a whip and Diarmuid felt Assassin jerk. He pulled back for a moment, startled, and looked up to see Emiya’s eyes tightly closed, a few more droplets of sweat on his face. The whip cracked again and Diarmuid swallowed as he saw a line of scarlet open on Assassin’s shoulder.

_Diarmuid please,_ Emiya’s thought was disjointed but Diarmuid understood. He settled back down, taking Assassin’s cock into his mouth. As he did that, he deliberately took the pain again, lessening the impact. Between that and the pleasure, the experience might almost be enjoyable. Almost.

Sola-Ui made that hard though, with her soft hums of pleasure and her painful whip. It was worse, though, when she used something else, like a flyswatter? The way she applied it was skillful and Emiya jerked in agony, sweat streaking his body. Diarmuid could taste it, see little lines of it on his belly. He took Assassin’s cock as far into his throat as he could, enduring the flashing bursts of pain. It was almost a shame neither of them liked pain. A masochist might really be appreciating this experience.

Diarmuid felt Emiya’s cock twitching violently, felt the arch of his body and heard his strangled cry, just before he came. He handled the rush of fluid with the ease of long practice, swallowing it down. A bit escaped his lips as he pulled away, dripping over tanned thighs. Sexy yet not sexy and that was entirely due to the long-nailed hands, gliding over Assassin’s shoulders as he struggled to catch his breath. Bright red nails played with the bleeding welts as Sola-Ui giggled happily.

“I just had my nails done. Do you like them?” …What an incredibly creepy thing to mention at a time like this. Assassin managed to keep his expression impassive but the widening of honey brown eyes gave him away, to Diarmuid at least. “I wonder what I can do with them?” Diarmuid’s eyes were the ones that widened as she ran a nail along Emiya’s cheek, just below his eye.

“Mistress,” Diarmuid said, his voice a gentle rebuke. Sola-Ui looked down at him thoughtfully and he could tell she was thinking about it. Thinking about putting one of those beautifully manicured nails into Assassin’s eye. Then she smiled at him and drew her hand away.

“I suppose your right, that would be _so_ annoying to heal.” And that was the only reason she wasn’t doing it. Quite the sadist, the lovely Sola-Ui. Emiya’s eyes were tightly closed now, although eyelids were sadly not much of a defense. “Can you work those chains? Put him on his chest, ass in the air,” Sola-Ui giggled and Diarmuid saw Assassin’s eyes abruptly flare open just before he registered a massive dip in prana.

“Mistress, be CAREFUL!” Diarmuid snapped as he reached out instinctively to steady Emiya’s mana core. It felt fragile as wet tissue and Diarmuid delicately reinforced it, hearing Assassin’s shaking, wheezing breaths. God, it reminded him of how Emiya had sounded when the witch’s curse was cutting off his magic, it felt like forever ago… Sola-Ui just laughed, a deceptively sweet, tinkling sound. Then she was sorting through her toybox and Diarmuid grimaced before reaching for the chains. As soon as the tension was released Emiya slumped like a rag doll, unable to support himself or take a more comfortable position.

So Diarmuid did it for him, lifting his body and moving him into the desired pose. Emiya felt so light and Diarmuid wanted to cry out in pain and rage at what was happening to him. Honey brown eyes turned to him and Diarmuid was struck by the calm composure, the resigned acceptance there. Diarmuid gently caressed his brow, a tender gesture he only dared show when Sola-Ui was looking away. Assassin closed his eyes and gently nuzzled his hand.

_Please tell me she’s going to use lube,_ Assassin’s thought was dry and almost humorous. _Or this is going to be a pain in the ass._ Diarmuid stifled a laugh.

_Lame Shirou, very lame. And I’ll try to talk her into it,_ Diarmuid said as Sola-Ui came back with – my god.

“Uh, mistress, lube is absolutely required if you want to use that,” Diarmuid said as Sola-Ui gave him a pleased smile. Assassin’s eyes widened before he glanced over his shoulder. For a brief, unguarded moment Diarmuid could tell Emiya wished he hadn’t seen that.

“What, you don’t like it? It’s called Bam.” …God god. “Twelve inches from tip to balls and two and a half inches diameter.” Dear. Gods. Would Emiya survive? “And I’m joking you idiots.” THANK GOD! “It’d never fit and it’s too heavy to go in my strap on. We’re actually using this.” Diarmuid had never in his life thought he’d be glad to see a bright pink dildo but he was now. “Seven inches of loving. Extra girthy and realistic, but he should take it no problem.”

“Would you like me to lube him for you mistress?” Diarmuid asked submissively, hoping she’d say yes. Sola-Ui considered it for a moment before smiling. It was the same rather sick smile as earlier.

“Only if you give him a rim job.” …What? Diarmuid’s mind went blank as he searched his vocabulary and came up empty.

_She means you can lick my anus._ Do what now? Diarmuid looked into Assassin’s face to see he was looking up calmly. _I’m not that into it but I wouldn’t mind if you did it. And the saliva would provide some lubrication._

“I see,” Diarmuid said aloud before giving Sola-Ui a pleasant smile. “I’ve never done that before but I will attempt it, mistress.” She laughed, that sweet tinkling sound as Diarmuid took his place behind Emiya. His breathing was better now, Sola-Ui had let up on the mana drain.

That was good because from what Diarmuid could tell, Assassin found this surprisingly arousing. Diarmuid tentatively licked the area, finding it didn’t taste of anything but sweat. Well, it wouldn’t, they were magical and didn’t make waste. Heartened by the thought, Diarmuid began to explore Assassin’s asshole with his tongue. As he did, though, he gently cupped Emiya’s balls, fondling the warm, heavy sacks. He also slid his finger to that special spot, the sensitive spot just behind Assassin’s balls. The other man jerked as Diarmuid slid his tongue into that hole, wiggling it as deeply as he could. What did this feel like for Emiya? Did it feel strange or arousing?

_Arousing. I like this better than I remember, maybe because it’s you,_ Assassin thought and Diarmuid was warmed by it. Then, though, Sola-Ui was gripping his shoulder and he reluctantly moved away.

“He can suck you off while I fuck him,” Sola-Ui’s expression was one of pleased dominance. Diarmuid didn’t protest, undoing his pants and letting them fall before taking his place on the bed. At least they could be together. At least that.

 Diarmuid watched as Emiya went down on his cock, white haired head bobbing. The tight heat of his throat was delicious and the sight of Sola-Ui putting that vibrator into him wasn’t bad. Oh and she’d lubed it too, thank god! Diarmuid wasn’t feeling much pain from Archer at all.

“Oh this is nice…” Sola-Ui moaned as she shoved the vibrator in up to the balls. Diarmuid vaguely wondered how that strap on was stimulating her, he was sure it was doing something. Her hand went under Assassin. “I see you’re enjoying it too, naughty boy.” AUGH! Diarmuid bit his lip so hard it almost bled as she did something _excruciating_ to Emiya. It was so hard to keep the pain off his face but he had to, Sola-Ui could see him clearly. _What did she just…?_

_She put her nails into my testicles,_ Emiya’s thought was weak and full of agony. _After putting a cock ring on my base._ Dear gods in heaven. _Diarmuid, you’re going flaccid._ Damn it. Diarmuid tried to relax into the attentions and ignore the afterimages of searing agony.

And that was the start of what Diarmuid decided was officially the worst sexual experience of his life. Sola-Ui kept torturing Emiya, mostly with her nails but sometimes with that flyswatter thing, while forcing him to stay erect and needy. Diarmuid helped take the pain but repeatedly lost his erection because of it, which didn’t help the situation at all.

_I’m going to fake an orgasm when I think she’s cumming,_ Diarmuid warned Assassin, feeling a silent acknowledgement. They both knew he wasn’t going to peak like this.

Sola-Ui was really quite beautiful when she came. She arched a bit, her perky breasts riding up as her eyelids fluttered. Her scream was soft and sweet and musical as she ground her hips sharply against Assassin, rocking with the expression of her pleasure. Diarmuid hated her with an intensity that surprised himself. He hadn’t hated the Witch who’d killed Grainne half this much. Concentrating hard on acting, Diarmuid faked his orgasm, tossing his head back and groaning loudly. Assassin knew otherwise, of course, but after he was ‘done’ Emiya released his half-hard shaft. Diarmuid was glad it was over.

_I hope it’s over and I want this cock ring off,_ Emiya thought weakly and Diarmuid winced inside. Fortunately, Sola-Ui was reaching under him and tugging the ring off. A few pulls of her hand and Assassin’s cum stained the bedsheets. Diarmuid heard Shirou’s unwilling groan of pleasure and wished he could pet that white hair but he couldn’t, not right now.

“I think that’s enough. I trust you will do better next time,” Sola-Ui was gripping that white hair and roughly jerking Emiya’s head back. Diarmuid had to watch helplessly as she stroked a nail over his cheek. “Or I will take your eye.” …Ewwgh. He had no doubt she was serious. “Get him back to his rooms. Or take him to yours and fuck him some more.” Ugh.

“As you wish Mistress,” Diarmuid said respectfully and began freeing Assassin from the bed. To his utter relief, Sola-Ui let up the mana drain and Emiya’s prana levels quickly returned to normal-ish. Still on the low side, damn her! Diarmuid could fix that later.

Gently lifting Assassin, Diarmuid carried him back to his quarters, bridal style. A fireman’s carry might have been more practical but he just couldn’t bear it. Emiya rested his head against Diarmuid’s shoulder and Diarmuid’s arms tightened around him for a moment. God but this was so horrible!

Gently setting his love on the bed, Diarmuid knelt beside him and lifted his hands, invoking the healing runes. He tended to the intimate injuries first, dispelling the lingering pain of his tortured balls. Then he moved on to the lacerations, mending abused flesh. When he was done, Emiya’s body was flawless… yet covered in drying sweat and streaked with blood. His eyes were closed, white eyelashes brushing tanned cheeks.

“Shirou,” Diarmuid said gently and those eyelids fluttered before opening. Tired honey brown eyes looked at him blankly. “Would you like a shower?” He was a mess. Assassin thought about it a moment.

“I suppose I should. I just want to lay here though,” he said, his voice slurring a bit with fatigue. Hmm.

“I have an idea. Let me try it,” Diarmuid said before invoking the air and water runes. He had to be very careful but using the two of them, he managed to take the blood and sweat off Emiya’s skin without causing a mess.

“Oh that feels nice, almost like a massage,” Assassin murmured, eyelids fluttering. Diarmuid made a mental note of that although he’d likely only be able to do it as Caster. “You need me to roll over?”

“In a minute…” Diarmuid concentrated on cleaning Emiya’s front. There. “Now please?” Emiya obligingly turned over and Diarmuid got started on his back. More blood there and plenty of sweat.

It wasn’t long before Shirou was cleaned and Diarmuid realized, with a sad amusement, that he’d fallen asleep. It was a bit difficult to find room but Diarmuid managed to curl up on his side beside him, gently cradling Shirou’s head in the crook of his arm. He gently rested a kiss on his love’s forehead before making a silent vow.

Sola-Ui was going to die before this Grail War was over.


	19. Fate Stay/Night - the Hector edition

Author’s Note: I’m putting this in Winter Winds until it’s finished. It’s sort of a fic-bit and it’s set after a lot of other events. This is Fate Stay/Night however, something is going very badly wrong and Archer needs help although he doesn’t know it yet… also, in case anyone is wondering, Hector is summoned into the Assassin class.

* * *

 

_Hector-cam – Engaged._ Hector whistled to himself as he adjusted his pink tie. No, not pink it was salmon! Salmon was MANLY! No it was fucking pink and he loved it. Particularly the fact that silk was nearly unbreakable and it would make a fine garrote. Not to mention the binding runes on the underside that could muffle any magic. _Appearance – impeccable. Game on._

A lot of people thought that Hector was a little insane and he thought so too. It was the isolation, the loneliness, the centuries upon centuries of being used to sort out messes in a variety of timelines. He didn’t have a companion to help ground him – oh god how he envied Diarmuid and Archer – all Hector had was his memories. They were engraved in his mind, impossibly vivid and they led him to never, ever give up. Poor Archer, before he’d found Diarmuid. Hector couldn’t imagine trying to live this life for something as abstract as ‘hero of justice’.

“Andromache. Astyanax,” Hector murmured, pausing a moment to remember the sight of them fleeing the city and the man standing on the burning walls of Troy. White hair gleaming in the moonlight as he rained down death on Agamemnon’s men. “I will protect you Emiya.” That was his whole purpose here, arriving in the Grail war completely unsummoned.

The World did not normally interfere with Grail Wars but it could, and it had. Hector thought about it as he went to catch the bus. Diarmuid was here too, although he wasn’t going to be taking as direct a role as Hector. His scars, while utterly gorgeous, were too distinctive. He also looked too old. Oddly enough, despite dying in his forties, Hector seemed able to feign being a youth. Diarmuid had teased him that it had to do with maturity. Hector had retorted that adulting was boring so why do it?

The bus took him to the school and Hector was soon slumping in front of his new classmates. His school uniform was neat as a pin but then his pink (salmon) tie detracted. Not to mention the jade flower pin that concealed the Hector-cam. Hector wished he could have gotten something horse themed but they hadn’t found anything.

“This is Hector Anastasoloupos,” and holy shit she got his last name RIGHT! A MIRACLE! “An exchange student from Greece,” and all the magi in the class were instantly suspicious, “Hector, would you please introduce yourself?”

“Hm? Oh, right. I’m involved in the current Grail War,” he said vaguely and saw utter horror on three faces. Oh sweet, identified right off the bat! “It’s a closed registration LARP and involves hunting for various ‘treasures’ using GPS coordinates. We moved it to Japan this year and I was lucky enough to score an invite so I got a transfer to Fuyuki. And if that sounds insane it’s because it is. Pleased to meet you all!” Hector smiled brightly before taking his seat.

His geek cred completely established, Hector soon began making friends. It helped that he spoke fluent otaku, in addition to various flavors of geekese. Who would have guessed that an ancient Trojan hero would find the modern era so welcoming? Truly, Hector often felt like he’d found his spiritual home.

“I also know Klingon. Tlhlngan Hol Dajatlh’a’?” Hector said cheerfully during lunch. He was surrounded by fellow otaku who found his accent and knowledge quite intriguing. Hector was having a lot of fun showing off and had spotted one pretty girl at another table giving him dirty looks. She was beside his target, who he was absently keeping an eye on. What a shame that Emiya didn’t seem to be a geek. Well, Archer wasn’t that into it either although his otaku was passable. Diarmuid was better but had some strange ideas, thanks to Blackbeard and his doujinshi habit.

“Hllja’. loQ vljatlhlaH,” one of the young men with him said and while his pronunciation was terrible, it was a good attempt.

“Qapla’!” Hector exclaimed and everyone laughed. Then a very pretty girl was standing by his side and Hector looked up, shamelessly eyeing her breasts.

“Can we talk?” Tohsaka Rin said coldly and Hector widened his eyes before smiling mischievously.

“Tohsaka, do you want to join the LARP? It’s closed registration but I might be able to score you an invite… unless you already have one?” Hector dropped his voice, letting his tone become velvety soft. He met her eyes and his smile held just the faintest edge of danger. Rin met his gaze and she suddenly seemed dangerously beautiful to Hector’s eyes. He could picture her naked, those lovely legs grasping his waist as she held a dagger to his throat –

“Rin? Oh please, she can’t even use a computer!” One of the other girl’s exclaimed, her derision clear. “She’d never manage a GPS!” Rin’s cheeks flamed and she glared at the girl as the other geeks at the table laughed. Hector was sure that while Tohsaka might be very prominent in the school as a whole, this group held her in utter disdain.

“I can use a computer! I can turn it on!” Rin protested but that just made her situation worse, as far as the otaku were concerned.

“Qapla’!” Hector exclaimed and everyone laughed as Rin bit her lower lip. “That means ‘success’ and turning it on is indeed the first step! Ah, Tohsaka, perhaps we should talk,” Hector said as he rose from his seat. “If you’ll all excuse me?” He smiled winningly at his circle of admirers and several of the girls, in particular, shot Tohsaka daggers with their eyes. Ah, he was making so many friends! Hector thought it would be very easy to get laid and damn but he’d do it, why not? It wasn’t like he could make anyone pregnant.

Humming softly at the thought of deflowering a few schoolgirls, Hector followed Rin to an empty room. Shirou was waiting for them and Hector smiled at him, meeting honey brown eyes. They were full of suspicion and it hurt a bit to see, but Hector knew he should get used to it. Archer was going to be worse.

“How could you say something like that in front of the whole class?!?” Rin hissed and Hector looked at her. She was furious. “The Grail War is a secret! The whole school could be levelled!”

“Oh psh. You wizards desperately need to get with the modern era,” Hector said with a flippant hand wave. “Wandering around in the dark of night down a sewer when the police catch you? We’re geocaching officer! Wearing dozens of runic symbols and holding a sword? It’s a LARP good sir and my costume has LED’s! Oh, the sword looks rather real? Just a replica of fibreglass and yes it looks remarkably real doesn’t it?” Hector said cheerfully, knowing it was true. Magi were slow to move with the times but soon they’d figure out that technology could be a blind. “That man is floating on air? Just a anti-gravity unit and it definitely cost a bundle but nothing to worry about we’re just LARPing! Qapla’!”

“Anti-gravity isn’t real,” Shiro said as Rin sputtered. Hector shrugged before flashing him a winning smile.

“It’ll be real in fifty years, just you wait. Anyway, my LARP is closed registration but I assume you both have an invite. So…” Hector tapped his camera-pin before pulling out his cell phone and firing off a quick text. The reply came back instantly and he held up the phone. A series of shadow and air runes glowed on the surface and he heard Rin’s soft gasp. “There, that will save us from any interruptions.” Magic via cell phone. Weren’t they just amazing? “What did you want to talk about?”

“You’re a rival master. What are you doing just waltzing in like this?” Rin said and Hector shook his head, putting his phone away.

“I just said I’m involved in the Grail War. I didn’t say I was a Master,” he corrected her gently. “I’m actually not.” He held his hands out, turning them over to display his lack of any command seals. Hector could sense Rin mystically checking and her confusion as she registered the lack. “Nor am I a Servant.” Technically correct since he hadn’t been summoned by a Master. “I am here for one purpose, and one purpose only. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what that is at this point in time.”

“Are you just observing?” Shirou asked and Hector was struck by how different his voice was. Archer’s voice was deeper, more mature.

“No, I’m doing more than that. But my task is very specific,” Hector said, wondering when he’d tell them the truth. Archer would be incredibly pissed. “I can tell you that I mean you no harm,” he said to Shirou before looking at Rin. “And I will only harm you under specific circumstances.” That would be if Rin turned on Shirou. Which could happen, this was a Grail War. “That is all I can tell you at this time.”

“Are you part of the Mage Association?” Rin said, determined to get more out of him. Hector shook his head.

“No. I am not part of any organization you are likely to guess,” Hector said, knowing that ‘Counter Force’ definitely wouldn’t spring to mind. It wasn’t like the World normally interfered with Grail Wars, after all. First time for everything. “If you do come up with the correct one I’ll admit it, but it’s not likely.” Extremely unlikely. “Feel free to guess at any time,” Hector said lightly and Rin scowled.

“Hmph. We’re going to be keeping an eye on you!” She threatened before sweeping out like a queen. Hector admired her long legs beneath that short little schoolgirl skirt. Then he caught Shirou’s hard stare and smiled sunnily at him, admiring his orange hair and lovely eyes. Archer’s eyes… Shirou suddenly looked unsettled before following Rin out. Not used to being ogled by another man? Hector chuckled to himself before going to rejoin his little group. That kind of thing had been taken for granted when he’d been alive.

The modern world could be a funny place sometimes.


	20. Fate/Stay Night - Hector Edition - Part 2

_Diary of Hector, day 25_

_I am already failing Social Studies from a combination of ignorance and sloth. Also a fair amount of ‘not giving a shit’ is involved along with my cutthroatedness. Is that a word? But my essay on the Illiad has netted me a D-. I wish I could take the teacher aside and explain that I did not misrepresent Achilles actions towards Troilus. He was my younger brother and I found the corpse! People these days, can’t take a story of sodomy and beheading on Apollo’s altar…_

_Anyway, leaving the horrors of the past and my utter failings as a student aside, I have had zero progress in my mission. The target has engaged in several battles but nothing his Saber couldn’t handle. She’s very hot by the way, and that odd metal skirt she wears is just inviting me to find out what’s under there. I imagine it would be frilly and lacy and in the middle of battle it would ride up to just gently outline the treasures inside…_

_Wank finished. That was good. So aside from seducing two schoolgirls, practicing my Klingon and eating many cheese sandwiches while envying the souls in Tohsaka’s mansion (curse you Archer, I can smell that stew from here!) I have accomplished diddly. However, because Gaia/Alaya/World/Whatever is ~~fucking stupid~~ ~~idiotic~~ ~~lost without a paddle~~ ABSOLUTELY AMAZING I must trust that we know what we’re doing!_

_Tally ho!_

* * *

 

Hector sighed, gazing into the mirror as he slid a hand over his erection. Masturbating was beyond familiar, he’d always done it but having a mirror was nice.

Unfortunately, one of the girls he’d been banging had gotten caught sneaking out by her mother. So now she was grounded and unable to come meet him. The other had set her sights on someone else. Hector didn’t mind, exactly. He was only there for a short time so he really didn’t want to break hearts. Still, longer than a week would have been a bit easier on his ego.

“Andromache,” Hector breathed, his thoughts returning to the past as his pleasure built. His wife had not been a gorgeous woman. Rather plain, with a pleasant, unremarkable face covered in spots. That had been her trial in life, those spots. Hector had found them enchanting, he’d never seen anything like it, but she’d confessed to trying every treatment short of burning to get rid of them. He still couldn’t imagine why. When they were in bed together he’d played with her freckles and told her they mapped the constellations in the sky…

Vaguely, Hector was aware of the tears sliding down his face even as he imagined his wife’s smile and felt the pleasure between his legs. Gods how he missed her! Just as he was finishing, breathing her name again, Hector felt warm arms go around him from behind.

“You know, you don’t have to do that alone,” Diarmuid said softly and Hector’s breath caught in his throat.

“Even if…?” Even if Archer wasn’t there? Diarmuid was silent for a moment and Hector turned his head to see him gazing away. The look on his face was terribly sad. Then Diarmuid suddenly buried his face against the Hector’s neck, making him blink.

“It’s so hard, being without him,” Diarmuid’s voice was muffled and Hector reached up to gently grip his wrist. “I didn’t know it would be so hard.”

“Yes, I know,” Hector murmured. Almost a month and Diarmuid was starting to fall apart. It wasn’t just that Archer wasn’t by his side, it was because Diarmuid couldn’t feel him in his mind. Couldn’t sense his presence at all. That had left him alone in a way he hadn’t experienced since he was alive and the Counter Guardian was finding it close to intolerable. Vaguely, Hector wondered if Archer knew how dependant Diarmuid was on him. Probably not, it wasn’t obvious until the two of them were separated. “Do you need me?” Hector asked and felt a shudder run through the other man.

“Yes,” he whispered and Hector could hear an echo of shame in his voice. “It’s not even the sex I need, not really, it’s…” Diarmuid struggled to find the word and Hector turned slightly in his arms, resting a finger on his lips.

“I know.” It was the empathic connection, being partly within someone else’s head, that Diarmuid needed. He really needed Archer’s thoughts and emotions, warming his broken heart, but someone else could do in a pinch. “But you’ll have to give me ten minutes, I just came,” Hector said practically and felt Diarmuid’s soft chuckle, the rumble through his chest.

“Then clean up your mess while we wait,” Diarmuid said and Hector blinked. Mess?

“Oh DAMN!” Looking around confirmed what Diarmuid had said. “The kerchief slipped! I got it on the carpet!” What a terrible thing to happen. “Damnit damnit damnit…” Muttering in irritation, Hector slid off the bed and went to the bathroom to find the spray bottle. Fortunately it wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was still very annoying though.

Cleaning up his semen wasn’t sexy but Hector manfully shouldered the chore. Fortunately this was a very good cleaning spray and soon the carpet was pristine. Although if anyone ever did a crime scene light thing on this room they’d see something veeeery interesting. Hector chuckled softly at the thought.

“What are you laughing at?” Diarmuid asked curiously as Hector rejoined him on the bed.

“Oh, just thinking of someone shining those blue light things around,” Hector said and Diarmuid looked blank for a moment before snorting. “Oh my god it was a MASSACRE!”

“No, it was just an enormous wank,” Diarmuid said, completely deadpan and Hector grinned. Ah, it was good to share his sense of humor!

“The most epic of wanks. It’s going down the balcony!” Hector said happily and Diarmuid laughed. He was beautiful when he laughed, his dark brown eyes shining. “Everyone who can’t swim hold onto the railings!”

“Disgusting!” Hector opened his mouth to make it worse but then Diarmuid silenced him with a kiss.

Wanks went completely by the wayside, replaced with real sex. Hector and Diarmuid happily stripped each other and the coupling that followed was quick, enthusiastic and very sloppy. Hector enjoyed every minute of it, particularly when Diarmuid slid into his quickly prepared hole. Hector wasn’t going to reflect on it but he knew why he liked that so much. Having a man between his thighs didn’t remind him of his wife at all. The girls, while wonderful, often left behind an aftertaste of melancholy regret.

None of that was in his mind, though, when Diarmuid pounded him into the bedsheets. Hector vaguely heard himself begging for more, shameless as a whore, and loved it. His pride had vanished somewhere in the sands of antiquity, if he’d ever had any. Hector wasn’t sure about that.

“ _Diarmuid!_ ” Hector cried out, his fingers digging into Diarmuid’s shoulders as a powerful orgasm rolled over him. For a moment he felt a deep, intense connection to the other man and almost felt a second moment of pleasure, when Diarmuid stiffened with a heavy cry. Hector could feel that cock inside him, the hot spurts of semen filling him with warmth.

Then it was over and they were both breathless and sweaty, their bodies still tangled together. Diarmuid nuzzled him lovingly and Hector returned the gesture. As he did, he caught Diarmuid’s hand, lacing their fingers together. For a moment, he felt an intense connection to the other man, like friendship but deeper.

“Thank you. This helps,” Diarmuid murmured, resting his head beside Hector’s. Hector ran his free hand through Diarmuid’s hair, gently kissing his cheek.

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, meaning every word. Then Hector decided to lighten the mood. “Hey, what are we having for supper? Please tell me it’s not cheese sandwiches again.” That made a laugh rumble through Diarmuid’s chest.

“I’m having sushi from the delivery place,” Diarmuid said as he gently separated from Hector’s body. Hector grimaced. If there was one aspect of geek culture he’d never been able to get into, it was sushi. Troublesome in Japan. “You need to go monitor Shirou again.” OH COME ON! “My prognostications indicate there will be another battle soon.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Hector grumbled, pulling himself out of the bed. A bit of cum ran down his thigh and he reached for a kerchief. A quick swabbing and he was ready to go. Well, aside from being naked. A snap of his fingers fixed that and he reached for his tie. That was a real tie, purchased by him and modified by Diarmuid. With fabric paint. Runes written in fabric paint, wasn’t the modern era grand? Reaching for the Hector-cam, he settled it in his lapel. “You better be watching, I might need you.” That was the function of the Hector-cam, it was constantly giving Diarmuid a live feed. That was via a jacked uplink to a defense satellite. Hackers? That was just a movie?

Musing on the intersections of magic and technology – Diarmuid was getting good at this – Hector headed out to put the Tohsaka manor under surveillance. Everyone was staying there at the moment, likely because it was reasonably defensible. Hector would penetrate it, though. His abilities and nature as Assassin might not have been enough, but with the power of the Counter Force behind him, well… there was a reason magi feared it.

Before leaving, Hector made himself a cheese sandwich and bagged it. Hopefully Archer wouldn’t torture him with some delicious culinary creation he couldn’t have. Hector thought he probably would and faced the prospect glumly.

Really, keeping an eye on both Emiya Shirou’s could be absolute torture.

* * *

 

_Level of engagement with reality – Zero. Rebooting brain. Reboot failed. Backup systems engaged,_ Hector thought before rubbing his face and hitting himself with a triple raspberry espresso. The combination of incredibly dense caffeine and sugar went barrelling into his system and he shuddered, blinking blearily as he came back to life.

“Mornings should not be a thing,” Hector mumbled as he slugged back the rest of his drink. “How does this child get up so early?” It was a rest day and Shirou was up at an absurd hour. He’d also gone to bed at an absurd hour. It was inhuman!

To Hector’s utter distress, the rest of the day continued the inhumanity. Instead of spending it flirting with the girls, going out on dates or anything even remotely normal, Shirou was doing odd jobs around the school. Finally, Hector was fed up.

“Are you secretly a robot?” Hector said, stepping out of the shadows. Shirou started violently, turning around with a wrench in hand, held in a fighting position. “I’m starting to think you can’t possibly be human.”

“What are you doing here?” Shirou asked, which was a legitimate question. Hector yawned, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

“I’m following you, obviously. What are you doing here? Besides making my life a misery,” Hector rubbed his eyes again. So tired. Although he could get untired in a split second if he really wanted to, by taking energy from the World. He just didn’t want to, it made him feel… not human. Which he wasn’t, but Hector was trying to pretend. Shirou’s eyes were hard with mistrust as he continued to hold the wrench defensively.

“Why are you following me?” Well, if he was going to ask…

“Because I think you are the hottest thing on two legs. Want to fuck me in that closet over there?” Pwehehehe perfect shock! Shirou’s mouth dropped open before he looked horrified and backed away. “I am dead serious. I will blow you off, just say the word.” Hector said with perfect seriousness. The horror deepened.

“Get away from me you freak!” Shirou looked ready to club him and Hector shook his head sadly.

“It’s only an offer child. You just have to say no. And speaking of things to say no to, who in hell talked you into coming here on your rest day? Because I have to say, right now you look like a bigger freak than me,” Hector said before stifling another yawn. So tired.

“I like to work with machines and the school has many heaters that need repairs,” Shirou finally said and Hector hoped to god the child was being paid. If not he desperately needed some adult guidance. “But you haven’t explained why you’re following me. And can it with the sex thing, I don’t believe you!” …Wise of him actually. Not that Hector would say no to a frolic but it definitely wasn’t foremost on his mind. What WAS foremost on his mind was the person walking down the hall, towards their position. Hector held up a hand as Shirou would have said something and sniffed the air.

“…Shinji,” Hector muttered, just loudly enough for Shirou to hear. Honey brown eyes went wide as Hector turned casually towards the door, which opened just a second later.

“Well, well. What have we here?” Shinji smirked at them both and Hector vaguely admired his hair. That odd purple shade was very interesting and reminded him of species of seaweed he’d seen as a child. His body wasn’t bad either, long and lean and lightly muscled. Not that Hector could see the latter but he’d noted it in gym class. “Shirou, I never thought you were like this!”

“I… like what?” Oh dear, poor innocent child. Hector half-closed his eyes, knowing exactly where Shinji was going.

“Oh Shirou, everyone knows Hector is bisexual. He grabbed his so-called brother’s ass in public!” …Hehehe and Diarmuid had almost decked him for that. Shirou gave him a wide-eyed look and Hector just blinked placidly. “So you’ve decided to experiment? Everyone is going to be so interested!” Shirou began protesting but Hector knew it was utterly futile. Shinji would make sure gossip this juicy spread far and wide. Unless.

“Shinji,” Hector said, gently touching his shoulder as he pulled out his cell phone. Shinji turned to look at him, completely unsuspecting and Hector very quickly slid an arm behind his back and pulled the other boy into a deep, passionate kiss. Shinji was too shocked to do anything… until the cell phone camera flashed.

“HEY!” Shinji tore away just as Hector danced back, grinning. “GIVE ME THAT!” Hahaha the little weasel didn’t have a chance but Hector enjoyed letting him think he did.

“I feel a Twitter coming on!” Hector caroled as he planted one hand firmly on Shinji’s forehead. “And Facebook! Let’s see how many likes I can get!”

“NO! STOP IT GIVE ME THAT PHONE!” Ptth, as if. Hector began to dance around, just texting Diarmuid some garbage as Shinji tried to grab him. Shirou was watching the whole display with wide eyes, the wrench hanging in one lax hand. Finally Hector kicked Shinji’s feet out from under him before putting a knee in his back. Shirou started forward but Hector just fixed him with a hard stare for a moment. _Don’t try me._ Shirou stopped and Hector transferred his attention back to the boy underneath him.

“Alright Shinji, here’s how it’s going to be. You won’t breath a word about me and Shirou, not because I care but because it would embarrass him. And in return, I’ll keep my blackmail material safely on my phone. How’s that?” Hector said as Shinji tried fruitlessly to get him off. The struggles finally stopped as Shinji glared at him.

 “Fine. Let me up you freak!” Shinji spat and Hector seriously considered stabbing him. Deciding it would cause more problems than it would solve, he let the boy up. “I’m not going to forget this.”

“Nor will I,” Hector said before smiling. He knew it wasn’t a nice smile. No, it was Assassin’s smile, the last expression many people had ever seen. “And I’m not a good person, Shinji.” He reached out to gently pat Shinji’s cheek, enjoying the wide-eyed, freaked out look on his face. Then Shinji was scrambling out the door and Hector laughed. Long, full and deep, full of amusement.

Hector turned back to Shirou and saw the boy looked like his brain might be short-circuiting. Hmm, Archer was more resilient than that. Of course, Archer had survived centuries as a Counter Guardian so he would be wouldn’t he? After a while, it was hard to be surprised by any of the bullshit the World threw at you.

“Look, Shirou, can I take you out to dinner or something?” And the wrench went back up. Hector stifled another yawn. “In a purely platonic, I need to get out of this school before I die sort of way. Seriously, you’re close to killing me here.”

“You still haven’t said why you’re following me,” Shirou said warily and Hector sighed heavily, sticking his hands in his pockets as he mentally debated it. Archer was going to be so pissed but, well, whatever.

“My job is to protect Emiya Shirou,” Hector said, knowing the phrasing would be odd. But there were two Emiya’s he needed to protect. One of them could protect himself better than the other but they were both in danger. Shirou stared at him, his eyes widening. “That’s why I’m following you around. I can’t do my job if you’re out of sight.” Although Diarmuid was using the Star and Wind runes to predict the future a bit, figure out the likeliest times for intervention. Today was one of those days but it could be tomorrow.

“That’s crazy. Who would send a magus here for that?” No one, since he wasn’t a magus. Not that he was going to say that. Hector rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Shirou must have read the answer in his expression. “You’re not going to tell me.”

“No. Look, if you’re determined to stay here can I order us in some fried chicken or something? Or pizza, or pho? Or anything that isn’t a cheese sandwich or sushi?” Hector was getting so tired of cheese sandwiches, so incredibly tired.

“I don’t believe any of this,” Shirou muttered and Hector didn’t really blame him. “But if you want to order pizza, go ahead. I have to finish fixing these heaters.”

“Mmm, alright.” Hector pulled up an app and placed his order with a few flicks of his fingers. Two personal pan pizzas, feta, pineapple and pepperoni for him, double pepperoni with mushrooms and olives for Shirou. That was Archer’s favorite. “I’ll leave you alone a while to get that… here, take this.” He pulled off the Hector-cam. “Pin it to your shirt, it’s a portable camera.”

“…Are you serious?” Shirou examined the pin, eyes widening as he touched it with his trace magic and verified it was, indeed, a machine. “How does it work? It doesn’t have any wires!”

“Oh, it’s a satellite uplink,” Hector said vaguely. “We’re very Men-in-Black around here… just wear it for me, please? My ‘brother’ might kill me otherwise.” Shirou gave him a very funny look but finally pinned on the Hector-cam, lovely. “Excuse me…” The ETA on the pizza wasn’t too long on a quiet Monday. It behooved Hector to meet the delivery man well outside the school.

Hector left to go wait for the delivery man, cell phone in hand. He paid with Apple Pay and took the pizzas back into the school. Shirou was deep in work on one of the heaters, mending old components. Hector could feel the magic he was using and pursed his lips. It was rather inefficient.

“You probably don’t think much of my magic,” Shirou said quietly and Hector blinked, hoping he hadn’t somehow noticed his expression. Shirou wasn’t looking at him so it shouldn’t be possible but maybe he’d sensed it. “I’m not really a magus.”

“Oh psh. Projection magic is very impressive,” Hector said bracingly. Shirou looked up at him, surprised. “And you’re a first generation magus! I know many people look down on that but if you don’t want inbreeding to be a serious problem, new blood is needed. Oh, here’s your pizza.” Hector passed it over and Shirou frowned.

“You didn’t ask what I want,” he said, a little miffed, then blinked as he saw it. “I… wait, this is my favorite. How did you know?” Hector shrugged with an impish smile.

“I know all,” he said mock-seriously and Shirou snorted before trying his pizza. “Actually, I’m more than a little inbred myself. Maybe that’s why I came out this way.” It was true, it really was. In his day no one had thought twice about marrying brothers to sisters. Although cousins was more the usual. Which hadn’t been that much of a problem but that was probably only because of all the concubines. Shaking away the thought – rather a disgusting time period to be honest – Hector started to eat his pizza. “I love pineapple pizza.” Seriously, pineapple with feta was the BEST!

“Here, take this back.” Shirou firmly handed back the Hector-cam and he pinned it back into place. “What’s your brother’s name, anyway?”

“Daud,” Hector said before taking another bite of his pizza. They couldn’t use the name Diarmuid, Saber would recognize it instantly. Although she was going to recognize his too-handsome-even-scarred face instantly too. They were just putting it off. “He’s from Ireland and yes, our pretense of being brother’s is incredibly threadbare. We like to say we’re brothers from another mother.” That made Shirou snort softly.

“So the two of you are…?” he asked and Hector looked at his pizza for a moment, feeling a bit of sadness.

“Only for the moment. We’re not normally partners so this is a temporary arrangement,” Hector said quietly before forcing a smile. Unfortunately it felt forced, not his usual cheerfulness. “Just have to make the most of it. I quite like him!” He envied Archer, he really did. Well, he envied the Emiya he knew, the one with Diarmuid by his side. The one in this reality was quite a bit different.

“Hector… what is a LARP?” Shirou asked and Hector blinked. He didn’t even know that? Had the child been following anything he’d been saying?

“Live Action Role Play. You see, it works like this…” Hector began explaining all the various ways LARP’s could work, the systems to award points and the ways they were organized on social media. “I’m trying to tell people, magic can be disguised by things like this but no one listens to me.” At least Hector imagined they wouldn’t if he was actually a magus in the Clock Tower. “Speaking of such things, I need to talk to your Archer and Saber. There’s an anime convention next week and we all should go!” Hector said brightly and Shirou choked on his pizza. “Full costumes! Saber’s armor would be quite a hit!”

“You are crazy!” But Shirou finally laughed, which pleased Hector immensely. “What costume will you be wearing?”

“Assassin!” Oh he would too, he most definitely would. His Assassin outfit was damned interesting. Because Hector had only acquired it in the modern era, it reflected his interests, not his heritage. He was seriously Assassin’s Creed, but not in white because that was stupid. Various shades of grey with black and grey leather. It could all shift colors, too, and did, much like a chameleon. In the forest Hector was damned difficult to spot. Not a lovely thing when he was sneaking up behind you to slit your throat. In addition to mini-Durindana, he had plenty of ninja stars. Which helped confuse the shit out of anyone trying to identify him. “My brother is going to be going as a great and powerful magus,” Hector said happily and Shirou suddenly frowned.

“Is he?” Shirou asked quietly and Hector was suddenly taken aback at the serious tone. Their eyes met and Hector saw… “I don’t trust you.” Hector suddenly flinched at the calm tone. That… stung.

“Ah, well, you likely shouldn’t. I mean you no harm but you only have my word for that. As for my brother, he’s actually the only one among us who can use real magic. I’m doing the grunt work,” Hector said, carefully not lying. He hadn’t confirmed that Diarmuid was a magus, which he wasn’t, just indicated he used magic which was true. “To do a comparison, Daud’s abilities are more like Rin’s while mine are closer to you,” Hector said before looking at his pizza. Was it gone already? Except for the crusts it was and he didn’t like those. “Well, are you about done?”

“Just one more.” Hector resigned himself to more time at the school and held up a wall as Shirou worked on the last unit. “Are you planning on following me home too?”

“I’ll walk you there, but then get myself home. I can’t be on guard 24/7.” That was true enough although Hector didn’t need to sleep, technically. Yet, he was still human-ish and mental fatigue could set in. It was better to take some proper rest rather than draw on the World. Also, the Tohsaka manor was under surveillance from more cameras. Some magi could have defeated that but Tohsaka was far too technology ignorant. She was lucky her main opponents were also pig ignorant.

“Hm, alright.” Shirou didn’t like it but seemed resigned, which suited Hector well enough. Smiling sadly, he leaned against the wall.

By the time Shirou knew he could be trusted, they’d be on the end game. There wouldn’t be enough time left to be friends.


	21. Character Profiles - Part 2

Author’s Note: For shits, giggles and lulz, I thought I would post this.

Character Profiles.

Emiya Shirou – Assassin class.

Appearance: As Assassin, Heroic Spirit Emiya’s costume changes greatly. He is dressed in night camouflage, which can change to daylight camouflage depending on the situation. Combat pants with many pockets, holding supplies, and a tight, sleeveless shirt. He wears a bandanna to hide his hair, although a few curls tend to escape. He also wears black, fingerless gloves.

As Assassin, Emiya’s agility is extremely high, equal or exceeding his Archer class. Luck is good, everything else is mid-low except for endurance, which is extremely low. Depending on Diarmuid’s class, this can be counter-balanced several ways. As Saber, Archer can ride on his back and save his efforts for when they will have the greatest impact. When Diarmuid is Caster, he can use the runes to reinforce Archer and feed him energy, artificially increasing his endurance.

As Lancer, Diarmuid does not have the endurance to carry Emiya or the skill with runes to reinforce him. They are rarely summoned in a Lancer/Assassin combination and when they are, it is usually by the Grail as a handicap.

Weapons and Noble Phantasms:

Small bow: As Assassin, Emiya employs a small horsebow. It works in much the same way as his Archer class, firing broken phantasms. They are weaker, however. It can also fire normal arrows. Emiya cannot use his Archer-class bow in the Assassin class.

Kanshou and Bakuya: In the Assassin class, Emiya’s weapons are significantly altered. They contain an extremely lethal, delayed poison, part of their very structure. Either blade can be deliberately shattered and the fragments introduced into food or drink. When ingested, they will lodge in the walls of the digestive track, burrowing in. This is undetectable to anyone except, possible, a Caster. When activated they will cause a lethal or near-lethal rupture of the internal organs. Because this attack is actually a Noble Phantasm, not even a Caster can purge the fragments.

This ability can also be used in combat. If Assassin stabs an opponent and deliberately shatters his blade, the fragments will become lodged in the wound and poison can be activated to cause a rupture. However, depending on the location of the strike this might not be very useful.

This ability does have a disadvantage and that is that when in use, Emiya cannot use the shattered weapon. He can trace a completely different weapon, of course, but that can be a hindrance. He typically uses only one weapon, whichever is unshattered. To an opponent who knows Assassin well that is a hint that his poison is implanted and awaiting use.

This ability can also be used as blackmail although Emiya finds that tactic distasteful.

Projection: As Assassin, Emiya’s projection ability is altered. He can, at any time, project the tools of the assassin’s trade. Lockpicks and poisonous components are his usual choices. He often projects them ahead of time then carries them in his pants.

Malicious Poison: Emiya can create a bounded field and fill it with a poison mist that affects only his enemies. It is far more controllable than the Malignant Miasma but also weaker. It can be purged by Casters and human magi. It is, however, a nuisance and impediment to all of the melee classes.

Malicious Poison is what is combined with Diarmuid’s shadow runes to form the Malignant Miasma.

Other abilities: Caladbolg is unusable in the Assassin class. Rho Aias can be used but Emiya does not have the endurance to maintain it against a serious attack, such as Gae Bolg. It must be combined with Diarmuid’s shield or penetrating the seventh layer will kill Emiya.

 

Diarmuid of the Scar – Berserker class

Appearance:

As Berserker, Diarmuid’s appearance changes. He wears black leathers, cut out to show parts of scars and decorated with black metal chains. Those chains can become silent at any time, as he wills, but typically jangle musically. He wears seven necklaces of black iron, corresponding with the seven runic powers he employs.

When Diarmuid is wearing his runic seals, he is roughly the same level as his Lancer class, perhaps a bit weaker. When the seals are removed his strength and endurance become stratospheric. His agility is high, luck is average and magical resistance is extremely high. His primary disadvantage is the madness inflicted by the runes.

Weapons and Noble Phantasms:

Sword that Cannot be Cleaned, 2.0 : After Diarmuid’s first use of the Sword as a Berserker, the properties were changed. When it was shattered and reforged by the runes, the structure of the blade was optimized on a molecular level. The color has shifted to a strange blue black and the discolorations on the blade are now a metallic red. It is essentially unbreakable. Any force capable of snapping the blade would cause immense devastation. It is also extremely sharp and never dulls.

Vase Killer 2.0: Vase Killer has undergone the same changes as the Sword, but with the addition that fire runes are now permanently seared into the halberd’s head. It is now a mystical weapon with fire properties.

Archer has commented that this is a rare case of weapons that were not magical gaining such properties from constant (and brutal) exposure to mystical energies.

Magical Madness: As a Berserker, Diarmuid is unique. His mind is completely unaffected by his class. However, when all of the chains are removed the runes act unfettered, using his body as they please. This is like a berserk Caster and a massive split personality effect. When the runes are focused, they are absolutely devastating but they often become unfocused, arguing with each other about the best course of action. A very clever enemy can exploit this and encourage the runes to argue, a potentially fatal weakness. Diarmuid can seize control of his body but only very briefly, typically to avoid utter disaster. The runes rarely listen to him and will often cause him pain for interfering. Despite this disadvantage, Berserker Diarmuid is a terrifying force to face.

As Berserker, Diarmuid typically employs Vase Killer but he can summon up the Sword at will. He can also fight with them both, one in either hand, but only when all the chains are removed as this requires insane strength.

 

Hector of Troy – Assassin Class

Appearance:

Hector was cross-trained in a manner similar to Emiya, but instead of being sent back in time he was sent forward and learned the Assassin’s trade from Kiritsugu Emiya. Kiritsugu didn’t want to teach him but the World made it clear it was not optional so he finally did it to get rid of Hector. Because of the nature of his training, Hector favors explosives and guns, not poisons.

Because he was trained in the present, Hector’s Assassin costume has nothing to do with his roots in Greece. Instead, it’s adapted from Assassin’s Creed. Instead of white, it’s in shades of black and grey. Those shades can also shift like a chameleon, to match whatever environment Hector finds himself in. He has two daggers at his hips and a line of throwing stars on his chest.

As Assassin, Hector has the typical strengths and weaknesses. His agility is very high and his endurance is medium-low. To Emiya’s disgust, however, Hector’s strength is medium-high. His luck is extremely high. Overall, Hector’s Assassin stats are superior to Emiya’s. This may be because he does favor a more direct style of assassination.

Weapons and Noble Phantasms:

Explosive Throwing Stars: Hector’s throwing stars can detonate on a mental command. They’re not particularly strong against a Servant but highly effective against a Master.

Grenades: Hector can summon up a cape and twirl around, dropping dozens of grenades around him or sending them shooting out in a circular motion. The resulting explosion is magnificent but Hector needs to get out of the area or he can (and sometimes chooses to) blow himself up.

Mini-Durindana: Hector’s daggers are a downgraded version of Durindana. Instead of a proud, noble spear they are tools of backstabbing. They are long enough to just barely qualify as short swords and are effective at melee combat. Their only special property is that they are unbreakable. However, they are the basis for Hector’s other Noble Phantasms. Hector believes that part of the reason this downgrade is possible is because he always liked to use Durindana as a throwing weapon, preferably into backs. (he is truly worthy of the Assassin class)

My Little Friends: Mini-Durindana can morph into My Little Friends, a pair of bronze guns. They have the same crest as Durindana and fire various types of bullets. Hector can summon up new magazines and has to swap them manually, but the various bullets he can use include some rather vicious things. Perhaps fortunately, he has nothing like the Origin bullets.

Spray n’ Pray: My Little Friends can be upgraded into a large machine gun. Shooting a massive barrage of bullets, it lives up to its name. There is nothing subtle about this attack, but it is very powerful for an Assassin.

The Big Fucking Gun: Almost more suitable to the Archer class than Assassin, Hector can change My Little Friends to an enormous gun. It can be utilized to shoot down aircraft or to destroy ships. However, it draws prana directly from Hector’s mana core and that is not painless. If Hector is willing to sacrifice his life, he can use it to generate an explosion roughly equivalent to Excalibur.

Because of the excruciating pain, Hector will only use the BFG if he is completely out of options.


	22. Fate/Stay Night - Hector Edition - Part 3

Author’s Note: Hector is explaining my take on the situation, which I like better than the canon version.

_Diary of Hector, Day 29_

_Still attempting to convince everyone an Anime Convention is a good idea. Got to talk to the lovely Saber and she attempted to kick me in the testicles. Just because I told her she had beautiful hair! Well, maybe I dwelled on it a bit too much. Did she think I was mocking her? I think I might be in love._

_I keep telling Diarmuid though. The force behind this is clearly aliens. It MUST be! This is WAR OF THE WORLDS people! I am telling you! Oh, you have no idea what I’m on about right? Of course not, you’re merely written pages! Well in case anyone happens to read this I’ll try to explain._

_We Counter Guardians tend to use Alaya, Gaia and the World interchangeably. That’s partly sheer sloppiness but also it reflects a deeper truth. Until humanity leaves Gaia for the stars, Alaya is still connected to the mother ship. A form of daughter spirit that shall only fully realized when humanity takes flight. That’s Gaia’s ultimate goal. Oh, I can hear you now. What about all the damage humanity does to the World? Ah, but what birth can happen without pain?_

_To Gaia, humanity leaving the womb is a true hope for immortality. Even the World has a lifespan, after all. But if Alaya can leave Gaia, it’s possible there will be new daughter spirits in turn and a truly lasting legacy. It’s only a hope of course. But isn’t that what all parents have for their children?_

_Ah, it makes me feel maudlin. But there are other possibilities. Gaia could die before humanity reaches for the stars. That is, alas, a form of stillbirth and would cripple Alaya. Humanity would be doomed to die here, on the corpse of the World. Ghastly really._

_I seriously think that what we’re up against now, what we’ve been dealing with for a while, is trying to cripple Alaya in a very new way. By crippling or outright destroying the very fabric of humanities’ hopes and dreams. Now it also seems to be trying to take out the Counter Guardian program. And this simply cannot be allowed! No! We will stop it! We will save you Archer!_

_I swear to Apollo though, I think it’s aliens. Diarmuid thinks I’m crazy but I beg to differ. ALIENS WOULD MAKE SO MUCH SENSE!_

_War of the Worlds would be so awesome._

* * *

 

The next day, the magic happened.

At least, that was how Hector thought of it. He was getting bored and wanted excitement. When a bounded field went up around the school it delivered his wish in SPADES!

Killing golems was only mildly amusing so Hector began looking for the source of the trouble, moving in the shadows. As he did he noticed plenty of passed out students and hoped no one had been hurt. Oh dear, a student had fallen down the stairs, that might not be good. His healing power was negative though so Hector just moved on. When he reached the third floor Hector was confronted with a sight that did not gladden his heart and he internally cursed himself. Damnit, why had he had his lunch so far away?!

 “Aren’t you wishing you had joined me now, Shirou?” Shinji taunted his helpless peer. Shirou had a chain looped around his throat and was hanging in the air. Hector traced the chain to the ceiling and saw it was looped around a ceiling fan. Shirou’s face was gradually turning scarlet as he asphyxiated. The beautiful woman holding the chain had no expression on her pale face. Hector moved carefully, silently blessing Shinji’s sadism. If it hadn’t been for that Shirou would likely have been dead by now.

Assassin was the stealthiest class, optimized to kill Masters, not Servants. Hector utilized that to the fullest when he came out of the shadows behind Shinji. His tie went around an unprotected throat and his bronze short sword – the lovely mini-Durindana – was pressed firmly against Shinji’s jaw. Shinji’s taunting suddenly stopped in a shocked wheeze and the Servant across from him took a single step before stopping sharply as Hector smiled.

“Now, lovely one. Put Shirou on his feet this instant or your Master dies,” Hector said easily and Medusa obeyed. Shirou gasped and wavered but maintained his footing. “Good. Now here’s what we’re going to do. You let go of Shirou and he will run behind me. At the same time, I let go of Shinji and he runs behind you. Then we have it out, Servant against…” Hector paused for a moment before smiling again. The smile that promised a quick, cruel oblivion. “Whatever I am.”

“How can I trust you?” Medusa asked and Hector shrugged slightly, easing up on the tie a bit. That was a mistake.

“Just ATTACK him he – uck…” Hector tightened the tie with a small sigh. Medusa took another step forward but Hector halted her with a hard look before speaking to Shinji.

“She can’t stop me from taking your head clean off,” Hector admonished him gently and saw Shinji glaring at him from the corner of his eye. The little idiot didn’t believe him. “I’m not a Servant and I’m not a Master but I never said I was human. As for what we were discussing… I will swear on Apollo’s name that I shall allow Shinji to safely retreat behind you if you do the same for Shirou.” After that all bets were off. Medusa thought about it for a long moment.

“I have very little choice,” she finally said before her chain whipped free. Shirou gasped then yelped as Medusa kicked him forwards. Hector thought that was a marvelous idea and whipped the tie off Shinji’s throat before following suit. Shinji’s torrent of swear words was rather amusing.

Then Medusa grabbed her boy and Hector grabbed his, getting them safely behind them. At which point they went at it, just as agreed. Bronze daggers clashed with claws and chains as they fought on a very even footing. Hector judged that Rider’s strength and speed were roughly the same as his own. It would be a very even fight… if he was fighting fair. But that was something Hector always avoided.

“This is a marvelous LARP, don’t you think?” Hector carolled happily. “I should get more in character!” Then, with a flash of light, he assumed his full Assassin costume. Then his throwing stars were flying at Medusa. His real intent, though, wasn’t to hit her. It was just to imbed the stars in a convenient location. She avoided them handily, as Hector anticipated.

Even as they danced around, sparks raising from every contact, Hector kept his senses on Shirou. He darted past them to one particular door. Hector pursed his lips, wondering what was in there. A friend? Not Tohsaka, he could sense her on another level and closing in fast. Where was Archer – ah, he was defending Tohsaka from the golems. Where was Saber? Not here, Shirou hadn’t used a command seal to summon her.

As all this ran through Hector’s mind, he kicked Medusa in the side. She landed quite neatly, unhurt – until Hector triggered the throwing stars. One of them had been in the floor directly between her hands and pretty much exploded in her face. Hector mentally cheered. Score one for team Counter-Guardian!

And that was a hideous mistake because the minor explosion, while damaging to Rider, also managed to push her eye mask out of position.

“ _Shit!”_ Hector hissed as he felt his body begin to petrify and saw Medusa yank the whole thing off. Acting instantly, he pulled the tie out of his pocket and whipped it over his own eyes. It looped several times before tying itself in a knot behind his head.

At that moment, Medusa became invisible to Hector. There wasn’t a void, an empty place she’d been or anything he could use to target her at all. She simply wasn’t there. Because Hector had utterly blinded himself to her, even up to the mind’s eye, the curse was negated and his body became supple again.

He was also a sitting duck and Hector knew it. So he targeted Shirou – oh my god the idiot had come out of that room and was looking at Medusa! – grabbed him and targeted the space he knew would hold a window.

Glass shattered as Hector leapt out the window, Shirou in his arms. Praying to god Medusa wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough, Hector hit the ground running, doing a zig-zag pattern as he headed – where was he heading? Not here was all he knew. Shirou felt alarmingly stiff in his arms and Hector prayed that would wear off.

“Worst bodyguard ever,” Hector said as he felt the air pass by him, guessing that was a chain. “Could use some help now!” Hector had texted Diarmuid as soon as the bounded field went up. Magical messages couldn’t get in and out but texts worked fine. Technology? That was a thing? Caster still had to get through the field though and that posed some problems but SURELY he’d done it by now!

He had. There was a hideous screech and Hector felt scorching heat pass by overhead, followed by an unearthly chill. Long familiarity let him identify fire runes and shadow runes. Pausing in pure relief, Hector pulled off his tie and looked at Shirou. To his utter dismay, the boy was half-petrified. It ended at the waist though. Honey-brown eyes looked at him in terror and Hector knew the child realized how close to death he was.

“Here…” Hector flicked the tie over Shirou’s eyes. It wound around quickly, robbing him of sight and in particular, blinding him to the supernatural. It wasn’t just Medusa, they hadn’t been able to make it that specific unfortunately. Hector heard the sound of explosions behind him but didn’t turn to look. Hopefully if he paid absolutely no attention, didn’t try to target Medusa even in his mind, the curse wouldn’t activate.

To his utter relief, with the curse blocked off, Shirou’s body began to change back to flesh. Hector breathed more easily at the sight, fairly confident the damage wasn’t permanent.

“The school, Rin, Sakura, we need to –“ Shirou said and Hector nodded.

“It would be good to get away from this.” From what he could tell, Diarmuid and Medusa were having it out on the athletic field now. My, what a remarkably violent confrontation on a school day. “There ought to be a law against this,” Hector mumbled as Shirou climbed shakily to his feet. “Can you run?” Hector himself was starting to feel a bit drained. Curse Assassin level endurance! Although his was better than most.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Shirou said and his voice was as shaky as his feet but Hector decided to let it pass. They sprinted across the field, heading back into the school. “What ARE you? You’re not human.” Well yes, that was obvious.

“I’m me. Hector, the one and the only,” Hector said absently as he searched for Rin and Archer with his senses. They weren’t moving at all, why? Oh for the love of piss! “When the hell did she get him?” Finding Rin and Archer was easy but Archer’s condition, in particular, did not gladden his heart. “Well this is a fucked up mess,” Hector said as he surveyed the damage. Archer was almost entirely petrified. It was up to his neck, whooee. Rin was trying to fix it, her hands over his body and Hector shook his head sadly. That was beyond a mortal magus. Fortunately they had an immortal magus at their disposal. In the meantime, Hector was going to amuse himself.

“Well Archer, you really did the doody today,” Hector said brightly and Archer tried to fix him with an evil eye. It was difficult when he couldn’t move his head. “It occurs to me that you are entirely helpless at the moment! Hey Shirou, do you have any markers? I want to draw a penis on his face.”

“What? Are you crazy?!” “You stay away from my Archer!” The children’s voices almost harmonized and Hector laughed. Archer’s eyes went wide before they narrowed in sheer pissyness.

“Touch me and I will make you suffer unimaginably,” Archer said and Hector was sure he meant it. Yet, he absolutely didn’t care.

“Oh look it can talk! Shirou, seriously, go find me some markers. I want to give him whiskers,” Hector said, enjoying every moment. Archer would get him back for this but that was alright. In fact, that was part of the fun. “I am going to make you so beautiful~” And Hector reached out to pinch Archer’s cheek. Archer couldn’t stop him and the look on his face was The. Best!

Then the bounded field came up and they all heard the sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs.

“That sucked Hector. I hope you – ARCHER!” Of course. Hector took a step back as Diarmuid sprinted to his companion spirit. “Hector, what the hell were you doing?” Diarmuid snapped and Hector blinked.

“I can only concentrate on one person at a time,” he protested mildly as Diarmuid lifted his hands and began employing the runes. Earth runes gleamed with a beautiful green light and Hector sighed heavily as he reverted back to his suit. Then he pulled his tie out of his pocket and began tying it back in place. “Fun time is over.” No time for the markers, alas. That would have been fun too.

“What are you doing to my… Archer…” Rin’s voice trailed off as she saw the petrification receding. Hector kept an eye out for any possible interruptions, hoping none of the students and faculty would awaken too soon. It was unlikely but you never knew.

“The damage is extensive and not limited to the physical,” Diarmuid muttered, his brows pulled down. “Miss Tohsaka, please evaluate your connection to your Servant,” he requested and Hector blinked as Rin seemed startled. Then her eyes went unfocused for a moment.

“It’s… strained,” she said after a moment, her voice also strained. “Petrified…” Oh right, Medusa’s mystical eyes worked on many levels. Hector hadn’t worried about that aspect. No curse, no matter how potent, could disrupt a Counter-Guardian’s connection to the World. Well, with the exception of Grail mud. That was based on the power of the Root so it was the one thing that could do it.

“Mm, you have two choices then. Well, three, but I assume the last would be unpalatable,” Diarmuid said calmly and Hector saw that Archer was staring at them both open suspicion. Not too surprising. “You can reconnect your mage circuits to Archer directly.” Rin’s cheeks flamed and Hector grinned at Archer’s tiny grimace. The only one confused was Shirou, poor innocent boy. “You can trust me to revitalize the connection between the two of you.” He could do that? Qapla’! “Or you can keep Archer in spirit form for the rest of the Grail War.” …That sounded like hideous failure waiting to happen. What good was a Servant who couldn’t materialize?

“You can’t trust these guys Rin. You should do it yourself,” Shirou said as he gazed at Diarmuid accusingly. “You’re Caster. You’re behind all the ‘gas leaks’ around town!” Logical and completely wrong. “And you’re Assassin. You’ve been lying to us the whole time!” Hector blinked as that accusing gaze went to him.

“I agree with Shirou that they cannot be trusted,” Archer’s voice was even and Rin mumbled something, playing with the bow of her school uniform. “However, the nature of the choices means I must leave this decision to you.” That confused Shirou again, hehehe!

“Why are you acting like it’s hard to pick?” Shirou said and Hector put an arm around his shoulder. “Let go!” He tried to shrug away but Hector kept him close, speaking in his ear.

“Shirou, children shouldn’t give opinions when they know nothing. The method they would need to use to rebuild their connection is sex,” Hector said and felt Shirou freeze in his grasp. Then he grinned, letting the child go and raising his voice. “So keep telling them how you think they should do it that way! Go on, tell Rin how much you want her to bone Archer!” And Archer immediately tried to deck him. Hector ducked smoothly and an air rune appeared between the two of them.

“Hector, stop antagonizing him.” Diarmuid’s voice was uneven and Hector felt a stab of guilt. Normally, Archer would have given him a look of disgust or told him to shut the hell up. The difference in reactions was underlining to Diarmuid that Archer was not the same. “Rin-san, I swear to you on the World itself that we have not lied to you in any way.” Technically true, Hector hadn’t said anything that was an out-and-out lie. Misleading, yes, but not untrue. “We are not Servants and I am not the one behind the mana drainings. You don’t have to decide now, Archer can dematerialize and remain stable for some time. Do you want time to think about it?”

“Um… yes, please,” Rin said, still blushing. “Archer?” Archer nodded curtly and dematerialized.

“If you’re not Servants, who are you? Who are you working for?” Shirou said and Hector responded brightly.

“We won’t tell you. But my deal with Rin still stands. If you can guess, I’ll confirm it!” Diarmuid shot him a dirty look and Hector smiled at him brilliantly. “Come on brother be a sport!”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. But why don’t you do something useful and call the police?” he suggested and Hector blinked. That was a good idea! Pulling out his cell phone he began to dial. Hmm, how would he say he avoided passing out? Oh yes, he was outside taking a smoke! Everyone knew he had that filthy habit despite being a minor. And Rin and Shirou could have been having lunch on the roof, everyone had heard about that too. Yes, that would work.

Hector talked calmly to the dispatcher as Diarmuid vacated the premise. Vaguely, he wondered how the authorities would explain the damage from his exploding ninja stars. Or the broken window. Well, they’d think of something.

Humans were endlessly inventive, after all.


	23. Character Profile - Part 3

Character Profile

Name: Black Jack

Status: Counter-Guardian

History: Black Jack’s real name is AE-352. From a distant future, he is a self-aware artificial intelligence. What no one knows, because his creator concealed it, is that he is also a creation of the Third Magic. A member of his programming team was also an Einzbern homunculus and used their mystic codes to transfer the soul of an infant into the machine.

Black Jack grew beyond the capacity of any other AI known. Meant to be the core of a spaceship, he began making strategic suggestions and soon was renowned as the finest combat AI ever created. He was made in a time of war and at his direction, things took a devastating turn for the opposition. Black Jack was utterly ruthless in his handling of his enemies. At the same time, however, the AI had a distinct aversion to civilian casualties. He was forced, several times, to employ scorched earth tactics against his wishes.

The war was eventually won, largely due to Black Jack. That led to a long period of peace in which the military became vestigial and Black Jack became bored. He found virtual reality entertaining and in between his duties – he still directly commanded the largest superdreadnought in the fleet – Black Jack ventured deep into online gaming. He would often deliberately handicap himself to give his opponents a true chance of defeating him.

One fateful day, Black Jack was engaging in a VR game when it abruptly shifted to a simple chamber, large enough for combat but with no one in it. Black Jack was immediately on guard – plucking him out of his VR game should have been impossible – but curious. Then Alaya appeared before him. Blue tendrils touched Black Jack, imparting the knowledge of what Alaya was and what it meant to be a Counter Guardian. Then he was asked if he wanted to join them.

Black Jack accepted with a condition. If Alaya’s current champions could defeat him in one-on-one combat, in the VR simulations, he would accept his place as a Counter-Guardian. Alaya pondered this before asking him if each Counter-Guardian could only fight him once, or if they would be allowed to fight him again. Black Jack responded that they could fight him as many times as they like. He did not mind if they learned. Then he observed, with amusement, that it would make things harder on them as well since he would be learning too. Then he added that he would like the freedom to change the VR scenarios. Just fighting in an empty coliseum would become boring.

Alaya consented and in a temporal loop, Black Jack was able to fight multiple Counter-Guardians. The Counter-Guardians had no idea they were essentially involved in a game and assumed that Black Jack was a dangerous monster, a threat to the World, which amused him. Several times Black Jack evaluated his opponents as intrinsically inferior and limited himself to make the fight fair.

It was Hector of Troy, in the Lancer class, who finally brought him down and the victory was one of sheer skill. Just as paper thin as Achilles victory over Hector, but running the other way, Black Jack was finally brought to his knees. Hector expected his opponent to die but instead, after taking the fatal wound, Black Jack laughed and congratulated him. Then he explained what was really going on, to Hector’s shock and amazement. Then Alaya appeared, her blue lines gently tracing Black Jack. He vanished, drawn into the core of the spirit of Humanity.

Meanwhile, in the real world, the superdreadnought began to self-destruct. It took long enough for the crew to reach lifepods but when it was done, there was absolutely nothing left. The destruction was so thorough that the finest investigators would never be able to understand what caused it.

However, Black Jack’s legacy would live on. His name would be mentioned in every textbook about the war and he would be remembered as the most remarkable AI of all time. As such, he has a fame equal or surpassing any heroic spirit.

Personality:

Black Jack is not human but he is good at faking it. He has several distinct personas. Firstly, in times of peace and quiet he tends to be soft spoken and agreeable, rarely venturing an opinion unless it is requested. In times of strategizing he becomes far more assertive, taking on a mantle of authority. This becomes more pronounced if he is taking the cause in question seriously. During combat, Black Jack often reverts to gamer-mode and engages in trash talk. However, if his opponent approaches him from a position of chivalry, Black Jack will take the social cue and respond in the same manner.

Black Jack freely acknowledges that he is not human despite behaving in a human-like manner. He understands all of human behavior and finds sexuality particularly amusing. He will often make jokes and if his Master ever has a love interest, they are likely to be teased. At the same time, after watching humans closely for many centuries – Black Jack is a natural people watcher – he is very perceptive. Black Jack is quite socially adept and his advice to others is usually sound.

If questioned about his own nature, Black Jack will respond that he sees no point in navel gazing. If pushed a bit further, Black Jack will admit that he simply doesn’t know. He has never been allowed to access his own programming.

Black Jack’s aversion to civilian casualties extends to the Grail War. Any Master who raises energy via human sacrifice will be regarded by him with contempt. With such a Master, Black Jack will dissemble while quietly plotting his or her death. However, even with a Master that Black Jack likes, he will be unlikely to take the Grail War seriously. He has no wish so to him it is merely a game and the life of a single human is not enough to give it any urgency. So he will handicap himself and have fun playing the game by the rules. Two things could convince him to take the Grail War seriously. If a Master ever managed to truly bond with him, and engage his full loyalty, he would act as if the Grail was a real war rather than a mere game. The other thing that could engage him is finding out the true nature of the Grail. Black Jack does not know about the Grail’s corruption but when he does, he would become implacable in his quest to destroy it.

When Black Jack fights as a Counter-Guardian he approaches his duties with utter seriousness. To him, fighting for Alaya is the war he is now engaged in and the will of humanity has his true loyalty.

Appearance:

Black Jack considers his appearance the way most humans do clothing. He puts on and discards different shapes as the mood takes him.

In times of peace with his Master, Black Jack will typically take the appearance of a slender young man with tousled brown hair and soulful eyes, with a handsome but not striking face. Black Jack refers to it as his ‘young artist’ skin. If the whim takes him, he might use a female appearance, typically a teenage schoolgirl with brown hair and a winsome smile. He will change the clothing of his ‘skin’ to suit the circumstances.

When strategizing, Black Jack often changes his appearance to something more imposing. Modelled after a few human generals he knew, he likes to take the appearance of an older man with black hair, going grey at the temples, with a stern cast to his expression. Or an older woman, very similar except for the gender. Both forms will usually wear a uniform of some kind, customized to the era.

In combat, Black Jack usually reverts to his absolute favorite form, a silver, robotic skeleton with glowing blue eyes. He dresses it in a concealing cloak and wraps so nothing but the glowing blue eyes can be seen. When he wants to reveal his identity he pulls the wraps away from his face, letting his enemies see the mechanical skull. It’s very Terminator.

Sometimes, rarely, Black Jack will customize his combat form to the era or fake an appearance to mislead his opponents. He will typically do this grudgingly, at the behest of his Master. If Black Jack does this voluntarily, he is taking the situation extremely seriously.

Possible Classes: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Assassin, Rider

The only classes Black Jack cannot fill are Caster and Berserker. Caster is obvious but Berserker is contraindicated by his programming. Black Jack cannot lose rationality in any circumstance.

Weapons:

As the living embodiment of the Weapon that is Worshipped, Black Jack can theoretically call up any weapon he wants. However, he never does this. Instead he vastly prefers to use a blue rod of light, shaped into whatever weapon seems appropriate. It resembles a lightsaber but firmer, with a real edge and shape.

Skills and Noble Phantasms:

Recording and Projection: Black Jack has perfect recall, befitting a machine and he can project everything he sees in three dimensions. Or two, if he prefers a flat image. This is very useful when he reports to his Master although he also uses it to show off all the kittens he’s known. (Black Jack loves cats)

Peerless Class Skill: Whatever class Black Jack is slotted into is what he excels at. As Saber, his swordsmanship is stunning. As Lancer, he is frighteningly able. As Archer, his arrows and bullets go where he wills. As Assassin he is the epitome of silent death, as Rider he can use any mechanical vehicle with contemptuous ease. However, Black Jack will evaluate his opponent and deliberately lower his skill so the battle doesn’t end too swiftly. With an opponent who can conceal their true skill, such as Karna, this can bite him in the ass incredibly hard. Black Jack will never stop though. It’s just too much fun.

Mana Regulation: As the Weapon that is Worshipped, Black Jack is on par with Karna and Gilgamesh in terms of raw power. However, because of his lifelong practice of limiting himself he is also an expert in regulating mana flow. He can regulate his intake of mana to suit the limits of his Master. Because of this, Black Jack can be summoned by a complete novice or non-mage and still function, although such a Master will provide all the challenge he could ever need.

All Weapons Are Me: As the embodiment of all weapons, Black Jack can temporarily highjack any weapon-based Noble Phantasm. However, this is merely a temporary effect as a warriors’ weapon will always return to him. Still he can, for a brief time, steal any weapon and use it to full capacity. He can also, with more mana and concentration, negate an enemies weapon-based Noble Phantasms for a longer time.

However, where this ability really shines is with opponents who are not deeply bound to their weapons. Gilgamesh is particularly weak against it and will be infuriated when he finds out. Black Jack can seize control of all weapons released from the Gates of Babylon, turning them back on Gilgamesh. And because restraints are also a weapon, Enkidu is also ineffective. The one weapon Gilgamesh has that would still work against Black Jack is Ea. Because Ea is partly a weapon not of the world, it is the one thing Black Jack cannot steal.

When Archer is using only Kenshou and Bakuya, he is fine, but Unlimited Blade Works is as bad as the Gates of Babylon. Bringing Black Jack into his reality marble would be like swallowing poison and would lead to a swift and gruesome end. (Black Jack does prefer dramatic kills)

Cataclysm: This is the Noble Phantasm that reflects Black Jack’s existence as a superdreadnought, a ship capable of destroying suns. It is a scorched earth Noble Phantasm on par with Ea. In fact, it is extremely similar to Ea in that it is also an Anti-World weapon that can destroy all things in front of it.

However, it is unlikely that any opponent would ever see this Noble Phantasm. Black Jack considers it the worst of bad manners, like winning the game by tossing the board across the room. He would prefer to die than do something so incredibly rude.

There are several circumstances where this would not be true, however. If Black Jack’s master has managed to bond with him incredibly well – a rare feat – he might employ Cataclysm on their behalf. If Black Jack was made aware of the true nature of the Grail, he would suddenly be more willing to employ this ability and he would definitely turn it on the Grail itself. Lastly, if Gilgamesh used Ea on Black Jack he would of course employ Cataclysm to block it… and watch the two powers clash with immense curiosity.

Trivia:

Hector is more than a little afraid of Black Jack and would prefer to never see him again. His part in recruiting Black Jack makes him apprehensive.

Black Jack loves cats and has always insisted on having them on his ships.

Black Jack is a gamer and enjoys absolutely everything, from horror to RPG’s. Hand-held consoles are vastly inferior to what he’s used to but he considers it a challenge.


	24. Character Profiles - Part 4

My concept of Archtypes and Wraiths: This is just my take on things and how I will portray them in my stories, if I use them at all… Archtypes and Wraiths are not true Heroic Spirits but rather, free floating concepts. Because of that, they lack any protection from Alaya and when times are tough the Counter Force will simply take them and force them to do its’ bidding. However, the Wraiths will also maintain their full identities and minds, making them rather difficult contractors. Alaya prefers not to employ them but sometimes will, as the situation calls for it.

If anyone has any ideas for other Archtypes and Wraiths, let me know!

Name: The Nameless Soldier

Status: Archtype or Wraith

History: The Nameless Soldier is a composite spirit. The embodiment of all the soldiers who died without their accomplishments being recognized, this spirit haunts battlefields and sometimes blesses the unknown warriors. However, this blessing is akin to a curse. It will grant the bearer incredible skill in battle, equal to the very finest warriors of their time. At the same time, however, the bearer will be like a wraith, walking through history without leaving behind any mark. Avatars of the Nameless Soldier have, at times, engaged the greatest of heroes but no one ever remembers. Even if such an Avatar slays a great hero, the deed will be attributed to someone else.

Avatars of the Nameless Soldier also cannot find love or even companionship. Those around them can only remember them vaguely, forgetting their names easily. The only ones who can truly remember an Avatar are his immediate family, because there is always someone to mourn the unnamed victims of war.

In terms of the Grail War, any weapon relic has a very low potential to summon the Nameless Soldier. If the weapon relic is fake, however, the chance rockets up to fifty percent. The other half of the time, the relic will summon Black Jack instead.

Personality: The Nameless Soldier tends to be a rather brooding, dour man. However, he enjoys alcohol and can quickly liven up when he has a few brews in him. His rather wistful wish is to have a true name and a history although he also believes this to be impossible, even with the help of the Grail. He loves the Fallen Woman and will always want to pair with her, if they happen to both be summoned into the same Grail War.

Possible Classes: Saber, Lancer, Berserker and Archer

As a fairly weak Servant, the Nameless Soldier is often slotted into the Berserker class. However, he is capable of all weapon based classes except Assassin. Rider is not possible due to no notable mount associated with him.

Weapons:

Skullbreaker: A flanged mace, it was carried by one of the Nameless Soldier’s Avatars. It bears minor enchantments and is roughly a C rank noble phantasm. The Nameless Soldier prefers to use this as Saber.

Robin’s Bow: Robin Hood has a kind of notoriety but because multiple people went into his legend, it also intersects with the Nameless Soldier’s aspect. As Archer, the Nameless Soldier employs Robin Hood’s bow and generally takes on aspects of his myth although he would never claim to be Robin. This is one of his stronger aspects and the bow is a roughly B minus Noble Phantasm.

Iklwa: As Lancer, the Nameless Soldier uses a shield and an iklwa, an African short spear. It has no name but was enchanted by witch doctor sometime in the far-off past. Wounds caused by it are cursed in a manner similar to Diarmuid’s golden spear, but unlike the spear, mortal magi can purge the effect. This makes it a relatively poor Noble Phantasm and is considered to be C class.

As Berserker, the Nameless Soldier usually employs Skullbreaker.

Skills and Noble Phantasms:

Exceptional Class Skills: Similar to Black Jack, whatever class the Nameless Soldier is summoned into is what he excels at. As the embodiment of the nameless, faceless warriors, the Nameless Soldier has a composite skill level that will always rival the greatest of heroes.

Assimilation: An absolutely ghastly ability, this makes the Nameless Soldier fearsome to some Heroic Spirits. The less fame a Spirit has, or the more fragmented the legend is, the likelier it is that the Nameless Soldier can absorb them. To employ this ability the Nameless Soldier must be touching the victim. If successful, his body will become fluid and the victim will be sucked inside, with no chance of escape. At this point the only hope for the unfortunate Heroic Spirit is that someone outside of the Nameless Soldier will destroy him, freeing them. If this is not done, the Heroic Spirit will be gradually broken down and assimilated into the Nameless Soldier.

Because this ability is based on the fame of the victim, it would be completely useless on someone like Iskander or Hercules. It would be brutally effective on a complete unknown, like Emiya, and likely quite successful against a fragmented hero like Robin Hood. Successfully using this ability allows the Nameless Soldier to take on attributes from the victim, enhancing him considerably.

One important point of this ability is that if he chooses, the Nameless Soldier can absorb a Heroic Spirit but hold it in status within himself. If he does this, he gains no advantage from the assimilation and in fact, will cost his Master mana. But then the Heroic Spirit can be released at a later date. This is a viable way to fake the death of another Heroic Spirit. However, even if the other Heroic Spirit consents to Assimilation, it is still based on fame and will not work on very famous targets.

I Have Lived Many Lives: Arguably the Nameless Soldier’s greatest Noble Phantasm, he can reincarnate himself multiple times. How many depends on his Master’s mana supply, as it will be an incredible drain every time he does it. However, this is a very useful ability because the reincarnation doesn’t have to happen right away. A Master can let the Nameless Soldier die then reincarnate him at a new location, hours later. The Nameless Soldier often uses this to fake his own death.

These are his only special abilities, which is what makes him a relatively weak spirit.

Name: The Fallen Woman

Status: Archtype or Wraith

History: The Fallen Woman is the embodiment of all women who started out pure and then fell from grace. She is strongly associated with the stories of both Lilith and Medea, embodying magic and wisdom within her attributes. All prostitutes can be considered part of her and she uses her body as a tool, to get what she desires.

Like the Nameless Soldier, the Fallen Woman can select women to bless. Those picked to become her Avatar are graced with great beauty and intelligence, often mystical power and wisdom, yet always come to tragic ends. Some become victims while others turn to evil themselves, embracing the darkness around them. In the end, it doesn’t matter. To be blessed by the Fallen Woman means embracing a tragic end.

In terms of the Grail War, the Fallen Woman is usually summoned by accident, often by Masters with tragic heroin stories. Matou Sakura would have been a good example of someone who could summon her accidentally. The other main way she is summoned is a fake artifact of Medea, or a foolish attempt to summon Lilith. (Lilith is actually more of a fallen goddess than a true Heroic Spirit and is too powerful to be summoned)

Personality: The Fallen Woman can vary but tends to be a very personable woman with a beautiful smile. She is always incredibly beautiful, although her appearance can vary widely. She has no desire for the Grail at all and no will to fight. It is always up to her Master to befriend and motivate her. If her Master manages to truly secure her friendship or love, however, the Fallen Woman will become incredibly ruthless.

She has a soft spot for the Nameless Soldier and will always want to pair up with him.

Possible Classes: Assassin and Caster

Another fairly weak Servant, the Fallen Woman is strongest as Caster. She partakes in the legends of Lilith, especially, and employs reasonably strong magic. As Assassin, the Fallen Woman specializes in poisons and seductions. Her Presence Concealment is frighteningly good and she can slip past even other Servants with ease in her quest to eliminate Masters.

Weapons:

Lilith’s Mirror: As both Caster and Assassin, the Fallen Woman possesses a mystical mirror. The use of it differs, though. As Caster it can be used as a potent scrying and summoning tool. As Assassin, it allows the Fallen Woman to see through other mirrors and move through them like portals. This artifact is dangerous enough to be considered an A rank Noble Phantasm.

My Little Darling: A simple dagger coated in poison, this is the Fallen Woman’s Assassin tool. The poison is so potent it will affect Heroic Spirits, making this a roughly C + rank Noble Phantasm.

Rule Breaker: If an incorrect artefact is used in an attempt to summon Medea, the Fallen Woman will respond instead and take her appearance, employing Rule Breaker as she would.

Skills and Noble Phantasms:

Ancient Magic: In the Caster class, the Fallen Woman is a magus on par with Medea for skill.

Beautiful Evil: In both Caster and Assassin, the Fallen Woman can choose to embrace the darkness in her heart. This gives a general power boost to all her abilities and makes her far more vicious. It’s similar to Mad Enhancement but her mind remains mostly clear. She often becomes extremely obsessive towards her Master, however.

Eldritch Horrors: Using the Mirror, the Fallen Woman can summon creatures similar to the ones employed by Gilles de Raye. They are every bit as bloodthirsty and only minimally under her control so she has to be careful with this. When using Beautiful Evil, though, she may use them to feed. This ability is exclusive to the Caster class.

Mirror Mirror: As Caster, the Fallen Woman can use her mirror as a scrying tool with this incantation. As Assassin, she uses the same incantation but can only use the Mirror to see directly through other mirrors. Then she can use those secondary mirrors as a gateway, stepping through Lilith’s Mirror and into the new location. This will bypass Boundary Fields and wards and with her Presence Concealment, is an absolutely devastating Assassin tool.

Poison Pill: As Assassin, the Fallen Woman can generate a small pill of poison at any time and add it to food. It is undetectable to most tests although if a magi is aware of who they are dealing with, there is a chance they could detect it. This ability is ineffective on Servants although it will give them indigestion.

Overall, the Fallen Woman is as good a Servant as any other Caster or Assassin. However, those are the two weakest classes in the Grail War.


	25. The Fourth Grail War - Part 3

Diarmuid woke the next day to very pleasant sensations.

Half-awake, he luxuriated in the feeling of Assassin’s body pressed close. The wonderful scent that was a combination of human musk, wet earth and the faintest tang of stars. The sensation of a hand gently tracing the scars on his chest before pausing to lovingly toy with his nipple. A different hand caressing his crotch, gently teasing his morning erection. The warm blankets surrounding him, something he rarely got to feel, they usually made love on hard stone…

It was the blankets that made Diarmuid recall where he was and why he shouldn’t be feeling any of this. His eyes flared wide just before Emiya gently pressed a line of kisses along his collarbone, caressing the scars with his tongue.

“Shirou?” Diarmuid said uncertainly, looking down at that white head. Assassin’s head lifted and honey brown eyes gazed down at him calmly. It was clear what he wanted, if Diarmuid had any doubt and yet… “Are you sure?” It seemed strange to him, that Emiya would want to make love to him so soon after such a brutal attack. A flicker of something dark passed through honey brown eyes but then it faded into calm acceptance.

“Are you forgetting how you met me in the first place, Diarmuid ua Duibhne?” The soft voice speaking his full name was particularly meaningful at that moment and Diarmuid suddenly struggled to catch his breath. “I am accustomed to the brutality of war.” Emiya lowered his gaze for a moment, his eyes unfocused. “Although I do wonder why I seem to attract such attentions.” Diarmuid swallowed at that. He actually had a good guess but this wasn’t the time.

Instead of telling Emiya his thought, Diarmuid pulled him into a kiss. It was slow, gentle and tender, yet full of heat. When they parted, Emiya’s eyes held a strange, bitter pain beneath the lust.

“I want you to make me feel clean again,” Emiya whispered and Diarmuid felt a strong tug in his libido at the tone. Although.

“Would you like to take me then?” Diarmuid asked and saw his lover pull back a little, surprise flitting across his face. Then Emiya bit his lower lip for a moment.

“I… would not ask…” And they both knew why. Diarmuid wasn’t that fond of having something up his asshole, the occasional toy aside. And yet…

“I want to do this for you,” Diarmuid said huskily before drawing Emiya into another kiss. This one was a bit rougher than the first and every bit as passionate. Assassin’s hands gently played over his chest and stroked his scars, making Diarmuid groan. The skin was so sensitive!

Then Emiya was moving and his lover was above him, looking down with a warm, wicked smile. Diarmuid enjoyed the pleasant anticipation and smiled back, putting his hands behind his head and lacing his fingers before posing invitingly. He heard Assassin’s soft, indrawn breath and then Emiya was gently stroking his cock, his fingers damp with lube. When had he gotten that out? Diarmuid hadn’t noticed.

Deciding he absolutely didn’t care, Diarmuid settled into the attention. Then lube slick fingers were touching his hole and Diarmuid concentrated on breathing evenly, closing his eyes as he was breached. It felt very odd, as it always did, but Diarmuid soon relaxed into the sensation. It wasn’t bad, just strange. And when Assassin found his prostate it began to feel good.

After the stretching was done they paused to worship each other. Diarmuid touched warm brown skin, teasing Emiya’s nipples and making him gasp. Assassin’s hands roamed over his body but settled on the scars on his chest, tracing the patterns and making Diarmuid shiver. They kissed then, so tender and gentle, tongues touching lazily. Diarmuid slid his hands through white hair, deepening the kiss until Assassin tugged gently at his trailing bang.

“Now… I need…” Emiya’s gaze was hazed with lust and need. Diarmuid hitched up his legs and gasped as he felt his lover pushing past that ring of muscle. It stung, as it always did, and felt odd and a touch uncomfortable. But Diarmuid just accepted that as the price of pleasing his lover. And it did feel good, when Assassins’ cock slid over his prostate. Then hands encircled his cock and Diarmuid groaned at the lube-slick friction. “So tight…!” Yes, it would be.

“Shirou, oh god,” Diarmuid breathed and felt a shudder run through Emiya’s body. The thrusts became firmer, speeding up a touch as they found their rhythm. Diarmuid held Emiya close with his arms and legs, breathing soft encouragements in his ear. It was delicious, having his love inside him! Then Emiya was cupping his chin and they kissed, their tongues touching in a loving dance. “Harder, oh please,” Diarmuid gasped and Assassin obliged, his cock pressing hard against that special spot with every thrust.

The pleasure was beautifully intense and gradually mounted until Diarmuid felt a familiar tightening in his balls. His arms tightening around his lover, Diarmuid spent himself with a cry of pleasure. Emiya came a moment later and Diarmuid held him close, feeling more than hearing Emiyas’ gasp, his body tensing as Assassin climaxed deep within him.

Then it was done and they were both left sweaty and content. They exchanged a leisurely kiss –

And Emiya flinched just as a voice spoke in Diarmuid’s mind.

_Diarmuid, where are you?_ Kayneth’s voice was irritated and Diarmuid imagined Sola-Ui was berating Assassin. They separated hurriedly, leaving the bed and summoning their clothing.

“Just, ah, sleeping in a bit Master,” Diarmuid said aloud, certain he wouldn’t believe that, not when Assassin was also ‘sleeping in’. “I am coming.” …Heheh that was amusing actually. Diarmuid’s lips curved in a small smile and then he was attending to his Master. As he walked into the room Diarmuid noticed the empty dishes, the breakfast already served and eaten. Well, that was fine, it wasn’t like the Servants needed to eat. They enjoyed it but they didn’t need it.

“Aw, how sweet, were you having fun?” Sola-Ui cooed and Diarmuid just barely managed to maintain his smile, feeling Emiya’s deadly stillness. Kayneth gave her a dour look.

“Sola… please, sit. We have a new plan to discuss,” he said as little air elementals wafted the plates away and cleaned the table. Diarmuid sat, his expression open and interested as they began discussing tactics. Emiya also took a seat, beside his Mistress. She ran a finger up his arm with a tinkling laugh and for a moment, their eyes met. The calm acceptance there hurt him and Diarmuid wished he could take Shirou’s place at the table, but he couldn’t. Kayneth expected his Servant to remain by his side. Pushing all that away, Diarmuid gave all his attention to his Master.

Soon, they would free themselves from their chains.

* * *

 

Before Diarmuid could put his plans into effect, there were some serious crimps.

The first crimp was the destruction of the Hyatt hotel and all of Kayneth and Sola-Ui’s magical stronghold. While that was fairly meaningless to Diarmuid – their magic was too alien for him to steal it anyway, after the betrayal – he lost a lot of notes and a small amount of charged gemstones. Fortunately, Diarmuid had the bulk of them elsewhere and he had a good memory. Still, it was a setback.

The much larger setback came when Kayneth’s mage circuits were destroyed. Assassin had fortunately been shadowing him without orders and dragged his carcass home before he could entirely expire. Yet, the man was in a very sad state.

“My god what did this?” Diarmuid whispered as he employed every healing rune at his disposal to save Kayneth’s life. It was critically important that the man not die. Diarmuid wasn’t ready to go rogue yet, he didn’t have enough prana stored. Although. “Shit.” Kayneth couldn’t feed him magic, period. Even when the man was ‘better’ Diarmuid was sure his damaged body would refuse to release any energy. So even sexual recharging was out.

_My father did it. How, I’m not entirely sure,_ Assassin thought and Diarmuid glanced at him, hands still outstretched over Kayneth’s body as the healing runes glowed. Emiya seemed serene but Diarmuid could catch the tightness around his eyes. Then he spoke aloud. “He kept his secrets well and I was just a child when he died. This is something I think he took to the grave.”

“Ah.” Interesting man, Emiya’s father. “Well it’s absolutely brutal and I wouldn’t want to end up on the other side of it.” Just from the damage, Caster had a fair idea of what had happened. “It wouldn’t work nearly as well on a Servant though.” It wouldn’t affect a full mana core the same way it did mage circuits, Diarmuid was relatively sure. “Still be one hell of a sting.” Something for him to keep in mind. It would be quite useless on any low-mana Servants.

“Should I fetch Sola-Ui?” Assassin asked and Diarmuid hesitated before nodding.

“You probably should.” Not that he expected a lot of concern out of her. Still, Kayneth was her fiancée. She had to care a little, didn’t she? Diarmuid thought she wouldn’t actually but he desperately hoped he was wrong.

Alas, he wasn’t.

“Oh stop it, you’re burning mana,” Sola-Ui said calmly after surveying the damage. Diarmuid ground his teeth together. “Let him be a vegetable for a while, just to hold you here. I’ll reach out to my family and they can send my brother on the first plane. Then he can take over holding you and we can get rid of this.” …What?!?

“My Master is not a thing to be so callously disposed of,” Diarmuid growled, truly furious at her. While Kayneth had not expected any love or fidelity from his fiancée, he’d surely expected a bit of human decency! Sola-Ui dimpled at him and Diarmuid wanted to kill her.

“Oh come now. You know how important magic is to us! It would be kinder to kill him,” she said and while Diarmuid knew she was right, he still could not accept it.

“That will be his decision to make, when he has recovered somewhat. If he asks for death then, I will give it to him, but not before,” Diarmuid said firmly and Sola-Ui rolled her eyes like he was an idiot. “Mistress, my mana is not truly that much of an issue. I have been husbanding it with the Earth runes, in case something like this occurred.” Diarmuid wasn’t happy to reveal that but he had no choice. Kayneth couldn’t feed him magic and never would again. Sola-Ui couldn’t support two Servants, no mortal could. So unless Diarmuid wanted to be chained to an unknown element he needed to show that he could support himself. But would Sola-Ui think of why he might have been doing that? That was the danger.

“Oh really? That’s convenient!” Sola-Ui seemed quite pleased. “Now, if I can convince him to give me your command seals, we should be fine!” …Well that wouldn’t matter much when Diarmuid pulled out Rule Breaker. Ah, he was so looking forward to slipping his leash. “Can we move him? We should get him into a bed.” Hmm.

“Not yet, please, this needs more work,” Diarmuid said, focusing his attention again on the healing runes. They were doing what they could to mend the internal damage, soothing all the overwrought tissues. That was what could kill Kayneth outright. “This nerve damage is extensive. I can’t begin to repair it,” Diarmuid muttered. He feared Kayneth would be a quadriplegic. If that was the case, if he suffered full paralysis on top of losing his mage circuits, would the man request death? If he did Diarmuid would do it for him.

“Well, I’ll let the two of you take care of that. I need to get this place habitable,” Sola-Ui said before walking out. Diarmuid was glad to see her go, they could easily handle this and likely more tactfully.

Once he felt Kayneth was stable, Diarmuid directed Archer and they got the stricken magus to a bed. They also stripped him and as they did, Diarmuid realized Kayneth had lost control of his bowels at some point. Well, that was… expected actually. If he was fully paralyzed as Diarmuid feared, they’d be cleaning him a lot. Diarmuid handled the task as Assassin gently positioned the man for him.

“We need to buy some adult diapers,” Assassin said calmly and Diarmuid winced. “Also, we should put him into a nightgown for modesty.” Yes, that would make Kayneth happier.

“Hm, let me see.” To Diarmuid’s annoyance, he found only one set of pajamas. He finally settled on a long, baggy shirt. “This will do.” It would hide almost everything but let them easily access Kayneth for cleaning. “Did you want to get those diapers while I man the fort?” He could easily look after things here. Emiya nodded and slipped out.

Kayneth woke up just as Emiya got back.

“What happened…?” He sounded weak and in great pain. Diarmuid gently stroked back a bit of his hair. “Diarmuid?”

“I am here,” he murmured softly as he met blue eyes. Kayneth’s eyes suddenly widened and he tried to move. “Master, no,” Diarmuid easily controlled him with a hand on his chest. As he did, though, he saw Kayneth’s hand twitch. That was a good sign and it gave him hope. “You are gravely wounded, do not try to move.”

“What happened?” Kayneth muttered as Assassin put away his package of diapers. “I… fought Kiritsugu. I was shot. I tried to defend with Volumen Hydrangia but… something…” Now for the hard part.

“It appears that all of your mage circuits have misfired. They have been destroyed,” Diarmuid said as gently as he could. Kayneth’s eyes fixed on him and Diarmuid felt his shock, horror and disbelief through their Master/Servant connection. “You will never use magic again. I am sorry,” he said compassionately before gently stroking back a bit of his hair. Kayneth’s face twisted as tears filled his eyes. Diarmuid gently wiped them away as they slid down the sides of his face.

“It can’t be… it can’t…” But the protest was feeble as Kayneth registered the truth of his condition. “No… no…” Diarmuid had his empathy fully extended and sensed what Kayneth needed. He gently slid an arm under the magus, cradling him against his chest. Kayneth sobbed there, wetting his skin and vest with tears. He felt Assassin stir and heard his small sigh.

_This is a very sad sight._ Oh gods yes. Diarmuid held Kayneth until he wore himself out, stroking his hair as the man breathed heavily into his chest. Then he gently settled Kayneth down onto the bed again and was relieved to see blue eyes sharpen.

“I need the Grail. It can fix me,” Kayneth muttered and Diarmuid felt a lurch in his heart. His gaze slid to the side and met Emiya’s. Yes, the Grail could do that but how would it choose to do that? It was heartbreaking and horrifying to think that Kayneth could come to regret his wish. “You need to get it for me.” Desperate eyes fixed on him and Diarmuid gently squeezed his hand.

“Of course I shall,” he said and the desperation eased a touch. Diarmuid felt badly for lying, yet not too badly. Kayneth couldn’t handle the truth right now.

“Where is Sola-Ui? Where is my fiancée?” Kayneth suddenly demanded, his eyes cold. Diarmuid hesitated before glancing at Assassin.

“She is arranging things in the kitchen,” Assassin said after a moment of introspection. Kayneth’s breath hissed out softly.

“I want you to be honest with me. What was her reaction to my injuries?” …Oh dear gods. Diarmuid did not want to answer that question. As he groped for a response, though, Kayneth saw the look on his face. “Answer me!”

“She suggested we keep you in a vegetative state, then dispose of you when convenient,” Emiya’s cool voice cut through the air like a knife and Kayneth’s jaw clenched as he closed his eyes. “Diarmuid insisted that you be allowed to choose.”

“Choose? Oh. Yes, of course,” Kayneth muttered. “You would understand.”

“We both understand. I was a very poor magus in life, but I did have some power to my name,” Assassin said and Kayneth opened his eyes. Emiya bent down, calm honey brown eyes meeting shattered blue. “My mistress is not a woman I admire.” Understatement of the year! “I will help you as I can, given my limitations.” That was the Command Seals. Kayneth looked a bit overwhelmed by their support.

“I… thank you.” Kayneth murmured and Diarmuid’s heart hurt. He wished they could truly give him their aide, win the Grail for him, but it simply couldn’t be. Pulling his hand away, Diarmuid stretched out his hands over Kayneth’s body and began exploring the nerves again. Ah, so much damage, so much… but there was some function. Not much but some.

He would never have his magic but perhaps someday, Kayneth would walk again.


	26. Character Profile - Alter Karna

Character Profile

Name: Alter Karna

Status: Corrupted Heroic Spirit

History: Alter Karna is the true Heroic Spirit Karna, but hideously altered by the Grail’s corruption and as a result, his particular timeline has been brought to extinction.

In the Fifth Grail War, Karna was summoned as the Servant of Matou Sakura. While serving the Matou family he became fascinated with insects and encouraged Sakura not to view them – and herself – as vile, but as something of interest. He strongly felt that there was nothing wrong with the worms in and of themselves, but rather how they were applied. Karna also felt that the Matou magic could be used with other things, such as beetles. Karna found beetles to be particularly interesting and was fascinated when he realized the worms could metamorphosis into them.

In order to support him properly with mana, Sakura and Karna became lovers and began to truly fall in love. Karna’s endless support and reassurances that there was nothing disgusting about her fixated Sakura’s feelings firmly on him, and she began to lose interest in Shirou.

Karna was too loyal. Even when the corruption of the Grail started becoming clear he refused to leave Sakura’s side and while he was not corrupted, he fought to defend her like a loyal hound. In truth, Karna was also falling in love with her and could not bear to leave Sakura’s side, no matter what the cost.

The cost was great. Sakura was able to give birth to all the Evil’s of the World and at the same time, realize her wish. Her wish was for Karna to remain by her side, forever. Unfortunately the Grail realized that wish by corrupting Karna and caused a freak accident, something that should not have occurred. Instead of just corrupting Karna as intended the corruption followed his link to Surya, the sun itself. The sun immediately began to die, somehow compromised by the dark energies.

That resulted in the greatest of tragedies for Karna because nothing human could survive in the new solar heat. Sakura died, as everyone on the planet died. Most lifeforms died as well, although not all… insects and plants are both adapting to the new planet although how long that can continue is an open question. But the only intelligent life remaining is Karna, surrounded by emptiness. Alone in his dying world.

Personality:

Insane. Stabby. You might not realize it when first talking to him, but Alter Karna is both insane and unpredictable. His insanity is fairly obvious – he laughs at nothing a great deal of the time – but his complete amorality is not readily apparent. Unlike the real Karna, he is surprisingly charming and gregarious, showing social skills his true self never had. He is extremely manipulative and enjoys the challenge of setting others up for failure.

Alter Karna has no rules or moral codes. He will do anything as the mood takes him. The greatest enemy in his life is boredom and he is constantly trying to correct that, engaging himself in mental stimulation. He is essentially a psychopath although buried deep within are hints of the person he used to be. It is insanely difficult but it is possible for someone to bring out those remnants and bond with him. If that happens, Karna would become extremely loyal to the person he has bonded with… and utterly deadly to anyone else.

Oddly enough, given his personality, Alter Karna is potentially compatible with almost any Master. His Master just needs to provide him with enough interesting things to do. With Alter Karna, the expression about idle hands being the devil’s playground has true meaning. Something his Master will realize if he or she is unwise enough to leave Karna without diversions.

Because of his past link to Sakura, she would easily cause the remnants of true Karna to surface. Alter Karna’s wish for the Grail is to be with her forever, whatever the cost.

Also, in terms of past links, Alter Karna feels no real connection to Arjuna and will regard his enmity with amused contempt. He is likely to try to seduce Arjuna and even more likely to attempt to seduce the unaltered version of himself. The real Karna is unlikely to go along with this.

Appearance:

Alter Karna is a pared down version of Heroic Spirit Karna. He is completely lacking his cape and much of his gold armor. What remains is dyed jet black, with red veins that pulse as though they are alive. His red jumpsuit is torn in many places, revealing a great deal of skin and much of it has the same red veins. They veins also run over his shoulders onto his arms, and up onto his face, decorating his jawline and his cheeks in a way similar to Alter Saber. They do not touch his chest but the red jewels there seem to carry a malignant light. The gold jewelry is all black.

Alter Karna’s eyes are the same shade as usual and carry the same piercing quality as the true Karna. His face has the same subtly cruel cast and he radiates the same ferocity, but with an unsettling edge of insanity.

Weapons:

Alter Karna no longer possesses Vasavii Shakti and his lance has been dramatically changed. It is now a symbol of the dying sun, dull red in color and shadowing with black when Karna invokes the corruption of the Grail.

As Archer, Karna uses a blackened bow that was once gold. He can fire arrows of pure corruption.

As Rider, Karna employs his lance but his true weapon is his chariot. A great thing of blackened iron and red heat, it can incinerate anything it touches.

Possible Classes: Rider, Archer, Lancer, Berserker, Assassin

Due to his new personality, Assassin is now a possible class. However in that class, all of Karna’s greater abilities are sealed, forcing him to act in an Assassin-like manner. Alter Karna very much enjoys it.

Skills and Noble Phantasms:

Discernment of the Poor: Alter Karna will use this maliciously, as the mood takes him. Driving someone to suicide would amuse him immensely.

Uncrowned Martial Arts: Unaltered

Mana Burst: Corrupted and strange but mostly unaltered.

Regeneration: Alter Karna’s golden armor is no more. The black armor he wears is not particularly protective, mostly ornamental. However, he has intensely powerful regenerative abilities. He can be completely dismembered and if his mana core is left intact, his body will reform around it. He also has a last ditch ability, concealing his mana core in a pocket of Grail dirt. It is difficult to detect and if someone misses it, Karna will be back.

Fires of the Dying Sun: A potent anti-World noble phantasm, this ability brings down the fires of his dying world, the sun that is eating the World alive. It affects a wide area, roughly a mile in diameter and Karna cannot adjust that although he can protect his allies from the flames. Because of Alter Karna’s nature, he would not hesitate to use it in a populated area. Rather, he would stand in the flames and laugh.

As Assassin, this ability is sealed and unavailable. As Berserker, this ability is also sealed to prevent massive destruction but mana burst is strongly enhanced.


End file.
